We would have been stuck like flies in honey without the 4-wheeled drive transportation to Ulcumano Ecolodge. Bumpy, curvy, muddy- the offshoot road from Oxapampa had all the nausea-inducing necessities. Surrounding the single lane were countless trees that reached 60+ feet in height. Their narrowness suggested this land was converted to forest about a generation ago, and this was further suggested by small plots still dedicated to cattle and small agriculture.
The half hour took us to a cooler climate, and I put a longsleeved shirt on while observing the ecolodge’s entrance. A group of birders were walking on a trail. They had rain jackets, bucket hats, long pants and heavy-looking binoculars. They were speaking Spanish, likely Limenos given their accent. The men had salt-and-pepper stubble or short white beards. As a group they headed to a canopy walk, where they would gaze intently over bromelaids the height of buildings.
To the Cabins!
A tall, thin man meets us after we disembark. His name is Eduardo, and he is the owner of the ecolodge. Eduardo has a narrow face, short dark beard, and a quick diction. I notice sometimes he twitches, possibly from overthinking, as he explains everything to us on the walk to our lodging.
There are six wooden cabins with balconies, each separated from the rest by forest. A seventh is Eduardo’s family’s home. The cabins use solar power, and Eduardo tells us how to use the lights and shower. We take a turn off the main path, on stepstones that lead to our lodging. I hear what sounds like a mechanical “BEEP!”. Eduardo says it’s the white-eared solitaire, also known as the Telephone Bird for its unique song.
It’s the only telephone ring we will hear in our cabin. That’s because there is no internet or phone signal. The cabin is large, with two beds and several tall windows with white curtains. It smells of wood. The balcony dominates the building. It is on stilts, in order to better view over the trees and into the green montane forests that appear to breathe fluffy clouds into existence, like vapor over a body of water on a humid July morning back home. The clouds roll over the landscape. There is no sign of human activity anywhere.
Before he leaves the cabin I ask Eduardo if we should use insect repellant when outside. He pauses, then looks at us and says, “So many chemicals. Well, it is not my skin.” Then he shrugs and leaves.
Sia Cave
We had barely unpacked our bags when a knock is at the door. Eduardo invites us on a hike to a cave, a trek of about 2-3 hours. He has on his rainjacket. The rhythm of raindrops hitting its orange hood is steady. I do a quick look-around, and there is no sun piercing the foggy grey sky of Ulcumano. We agree to meet with the group at the ecolodge’s entrance in 15 minutes. Then Janina and I change into our rain gear, and we fill up our water bottles.
The trail cuts through Ulcumano’s 102 hectares to a little-visited cave called Cueva Sia. White and brown trees, much like the ones that greeted us, leer over and around us like palm-fingered oglers. Lichens cover their branches and the muddy path smells of fresh, wet leaves. Jurassic plants of up to 40 feet in height neighbor the path too. Because of the rain, it’s not very warm, but it’s not cold, either.
At one point we stop after Eduardo thinks he hears an animal munching up in the canopy. We gaze up, fat raindrops occasionally splashing our faces. We never spot the possible mammal or hear the munching again. But we do hear our invisible friend, the Telephone Bird.
The last section is muddier, steep, and downhill. We babystep to the cave’s entrance and can’t go far inside because the rocky floor is slippery due to a waterfall. We take some photos that don’t come out because of the lighting, eat a snack, and talk a bit before returning.
The hike to the cave took us over an hour, but the energized walk back, motivated by the prospect of a warm, dry lunch, only took 50 minutes.
Lunch!
The hike tired us out, and all one hears in the large cafeteria is the light clinking of plates, silverware and glasses on our wooden table as we chow down on homemade chaufa.
“Hijito!” Eduardo shouts as his wife enters the room with a small baby in her arms. Eduardo’s shoulders relax, and our twitchy guide is transformed into a smiling father, contently beaming with happiness.
Upon seeing Eduardo with his family, we decide to call our 2-year-old son. He’s with his grandparents back in the USA. But the wifi signal isn’t strong enough to make a connection, and the call fails.
The Telephone Bird blares out a few beeps as we leave the cafeteria.
The Night Walk
We spend most of the afternoon resting in the cabin and washing up. The group has decided to do the moonlit canopy walk after dinner. Dusk is slightly chilly, and the sun adds pink streaks to the orange and red hues streaking over the verdant hills. It fees like autumn back home.
Ulcumano’s canopy walk is a series of six cable bridges that are connected by 40-foot-tall platforms. We have on long sleeves and pants, and the moon provides enough light now that the clouds have finally departed. Upon reaching the top of the first metal platform we hook onto cables with carabiner clips. There are two cables, one on each side, and we’re clipped onto both.
We go single file onto the first bridge. I’m the last to go, right behind Janina, who pauses and stares at the cable.
“No worries, just one of these cables can hold an elephant!” our friend Matt encourages her as he glances behind from the bridge. Matt would know something like that. Janina steps onto the bridge, which feels almost as sturdy as the platform.
The moonlight beams onto the forest canopy, a mix of trees and fabulously tall ferns. It smells of fresh vegetation with a clean, crisp air. We flash our lights onto branches and treetops, but large mammals usually avoid those spots during full moons. And tonight they certainly are.
There are plenty of pauses in the conversations as we vainly search for monkeys, spectacled bears, and other animals. It’s tough to picture the Ulcumano of 18 years ago, when cattle grazed throughout the area. The first Ulcumano tree was planted after Eduardo bought the land. The lonely pioneer now has 1000s of siblings, each with its branches spiraling out like fan blades with small needles on the edges.
The Dream
Nature recovers faster than humans expect. The canopy walk is barely at the height of the forest’s top layer now; several years ago it was above everything. Top predators like falcons and bears have moved in, showing the ecosystem is strong again.
Maybe Eduardo is living The Dream. His family lives off the land which they’ve helped recover. But there is a cost. Their son stays with family during the week in order to go to school. And a degree of loneliness must be a part of everyday life. May it’s The Dream, maybe not. But if it is, I’m glad to be a part of it.
