March 2009: On this trip to Ecuador, beyond exploring the Galápagos Islands-Independant Travel to the Galapagos Islands | Venture The Planet, my goal was to venture deep into the Amazon Rainforest and visit Yasuní National Park—a place that keeps drawing me back. I arranged for a guide, Robert Vaca, who had strong connections with the Waorani tribe, an Indigenous group living in Yasuní that continues to maintain a traditional way of life.
My plan was to travel by boat into the heart of Yasuní, staying with the Waorani for a week to observe their way of life and immerse ourselves in the wild, hoping to encounter some of the region’s incredible wildlife along the way.
One of my primary goals in traveling is to visit endangered places—regions with unique ecosystems, cultures, or historical significance that are threatened by the relentless forces of the modern world. Both Yasuní National Park and the Waorani people fall into this category.
Yasuní is Ecuador’s largest rainforest reserve, located in the heart of the Amazon along the Peruvian border. It remains one of the last stretches of untouched old-growth rainforest, harboring an astonishing level of biodiversity. Scientists consider it one of the most biodiverse places on Earth, as it encompasses both lowland Amazonian forest and the transition zone from the Andes to the Amazon basin. The park is also home to several Indigenous groups, including the Waorani and their related uncontacted tribes, the Tagaeri and Taromenane. These groups have maintained almost no interaction with the outside world and have fiercely resisted attempts at contact, sometimes responding with violence.
A vast, roadless rainforest teeming with jaguars, hidden tribes, and only accessible by boat—it was precisely the kind of place that fascinated me, and I knew I had to go. However, Yasuní faces an ever-growing threat. Oil companies have drilled extensively along its borders and even within the park itself, opening roads that have paved the way for settlers, deforestation, and unsustainable hunting. Political pressure to generate foreign revenue for Ecuador’s struggling economy has further eroded protections, allowing oil interests to encroach deeper into the reserve. Worse yet, massive oil spills have devastated parts of Yasuní’s waterways, their true impact concealed by cover-ups until long after the companies have moved on.
Day 1/2: After spending a few days diving and exploring San Cristóbal Island in the Galápagos, my friend Sterling and I flew into Quito. We spent one night in the city, wandering through the historic old town and admiring its grandiose Catholic churches before catching a morning flight on a domestic airline to Coca—the gateway to the Ecuadorian Amazon.
Old churches in Quito
The view from the plane as we flew over the Andes and the vast rainforest was breathtaking. Upon landing in Coca, we traveled by road for about an hour until we reached the end of the highway. During this stretch, all we saw from the car window was evidence of deforestation—patches of cleared land, small wooden shacks housing impoverished settlers, and oil pipelines cutting through what had once been dense rainforest, now turned into cattle pasture.
At the road’s end, we left our vehicle and boarded a motorized canoe on the Shiripuno River, a tributary that eventually feeds into the Amazon. From there, we traveled downriver for the rest of the day, entering the heart of Yasuní National Park. Unlike the earlier part of our journey, here we rarely saw another person or settlement. Instead, we encountered an abundance of wildlife—caiman crocodiles lurking along the riverbanks, turtles basking on logs, troops of monkeys swinging through the canopy, and flocks of loud, boisterous parrots and brilliantly colored macaws filling the sky. Yasuní was truly wild.
The only miserable part of the journey was the relentless rain. Despite being near the equator, traveling in an open-top canoe in the rain can be bone-chilling. The cold rain, combined with the wind whipping across the water, left us shivering uncontrollably. We had rain gear and hoods, doing our best to hunker down against the downpour, but after hours of being pelted by wind-driven tropical rain, our endurance was wearing thin.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rain stopped. The jungle awakened around us, and in that moment, all discomfort faded as we sat in awe of our surroundings. By late afternoon, we arrived at the Boanamo community, where we would meet the Waorani people.
Traveling down the Shiripuno River
One of many river turtles we saw
Caiman
Front of our boat stocked with our food and equipment for the week
Spooked Caiman
3 foot long Monitor lizard running from us
Our camp was set deep in the forest along a wild stretch of the river, away from the main Waorani village. We pitched our tents beneath traditional Waorani structures, using them as shelter from the frequent rains.
After setting up my tent, I noticed movement beneath it. Curious, I lifted the tent and was met with an alarming sight—a coral snake, one of the most venomous snakes in the Amazon. Carefully, I grabbed a stick and redirected it away from the campsite, ensuring it slithered off into the jungle. It was a stark reminder of just how wild and untamed Yasuní truly was.
Our camp
Poisonous coral snake under my tent
We visited the nearby Boanamo community of the Waorani, as we needed their permission before camping and entering their territory. In a place as wild as this, offending the locals is not a risk worth taking. Despite their reputation as fierce warriors, the Waorani were incredibly warm and welcoming—far more so than the Yanomami tribe I had previously met in Brazil.
The Waorani population is small, with only about 5,000 people, and they live a semi-nomadic lifestyle. While they maintain permanent villages, hunting parties frequently roam the jungle, tracking the movement of animals. Though some use guns, most still rely on traditional weapons like spears and blowguns tipped with poison darts. Their villages consist of clusters of small, open-sided huts with thatched roofs, completely devoid of electricity.
Many of the villagers had large holes in their earlobes, adorned with plugs made from rainforest nuts. The women were mostly topless, while the men either wore ragged T-shirts and shorts or, in some cases, nothing at all—except for a waist string wrapped around the top of their penis. When hunting in the forest, however, all men go completely naked, believing that wearing Western clothes brings bad luck and that hunting unclothed makes it harder for animals to detect their scent.
The village itself felt like an exotic petting zoo. While hunting, the Waorani inevitably orphan many young rainforest animals when they kill the mothers. Instead of leaving them behind, they raise these animals—sometimes as livestock, other times simply as pets.
Our absolute favorite among their adopted animals was a kinkajou—a small, monkey-like creature with a long, prehensile tail. We found it engaged in an intense wrestling match with a puppy, and watching the two play was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. The highlight was when the kinkajou, using its tail like a lasso, wrapped it around the puppy’s neck and body-slammed it to the ground in a dramatic flip.
Sterling and I with the Woaranie chief and his family in his house
Woaranie Chief
Me with a kinkajou-pet of Woaranie
4 foot tall enormous harpey eagle devouring an animals liver covered in flies.
Small Kinkajou
Me with my new friend
Sterling with the Woaranie chief
Woaranie man with one of the peccarys
Cooking peccary meat
Pet monkey
Pet monkey
Close relatives of the Waorani Indians are the Tagaeri and Taromenane, two uncontacted tribes that number only in the hundreds. While they live deep in the forest, entirely avoiding the outside world, there have been attempts to contact them—many of which have ended in tragedy. Settlers and missionaries who have tried to reach out to them have been met with deadly resistance.
Though they remain isolated, they occasionally venture to the river and even approach Waorani villages. The Waorani told me that they had seen them on a few occasions. When this happens, they follow a simple protocol—leaving cooking utensils and food outside their huts as a gesture of peace before retreating indoors to avoid any potential conflict.
I would have loved the rare chance to glimpse either of these elusive groups from a safe distance, but I also deeply respect their choice to remain isolated and be left alone.
The chief accompanied us by boat into a pristine, untouched part of the rainforest, an area he claimed was rich in wildlife and prime hunting territory. He specifically mentioned the presence of large herds of peccaries—mean-spirited, pig-like creatures that can number in the hundreds. Known for their aggression, peccaries are capable of ripping humans apart with their sharp tusks and teeth if provoked.
Me in front of a huge tree
Monkeys we saw
Monkeys we saw
Yasuní is undoubtedly one of the best places in the Amazon for wildlife. Everywhere we turned, the jungle was alive—whether in the trees above or on the ground beneath our feet. At one point, we came across fresh jaguar tracks, which the chief examined closely before declaring they belonged to a massive jaguar.
Curious, I asked if there was a chance we could see one. He simply replied, “Yes, if you stay here at night.”
I seriously considered it, and to this day, I regret not taking the chance.
Jaguar prints
A Peccary herd in the hundreds
While hiking through the rainforest, we suddenly heard a thunderous stampede in the distance—a cacophony of clicking hooves, snapping branches, and deep grunting sounds. The chief’s eyes went wild with excitement as he gripped his four-foot-long spear and urgently motioned for us to take cover.
We quickly scrambled behind a tree, climbing onto some branches for safety, while the chief disappeared into the dense undergrowth. Moments later, the source of the commotion became clear—a massive herd of peccaries came flooding through the forest, surging past us in a chaotic wave of bristling bodies and sharp tusks.
As we remained hidden, we couldn’t help but wonder—where had the chief gone? Then, from the depths of the jungle, he suddenly reemerged, yelling triumphantly. He had successfully speared one of the peccaries and proudly declared that it would soon die. With an excited grin, he explained that he would track the wounded animal, retrieve its body, and bring it back to the village for a feast.
In the video below, he animatedly recounts his heroic tale of chasing the peccaries through the jungle and claiming his prize.
The chief recounting his heroic hunting tale
We returned to the Waorani village for the night, where the chief was eager to share his hunting story with the other men. His excitement was infectious, and he even used the village radio to broadcast his tale to neighboring Waorani settlements. Despite having no phone reception or electricity, the village had a small generator and batteries to power lights and the radio, their main means of communication.
It was amusing to witness how, no matter the culture, men share a universal trait—an instinct to boast about their exploits. The Waorani were no different, reveling in the retelling of the hunt with the same enthusiasm one might hear in a locker room or a bar anywhere else in the world.
On our last day, we picked up a young Waorani girl who was gravely ill, along with her father. They needed transportation to Coca, from where they would catch a bus to Quito for medical treatment. The journey upriver took the entire day, as we fought against a strong current.
At one point, our motor suddenly died, and the boat drifted helplessly into the thick brush along the riverbank. We had to grab onto overhanging branches—many of them crawling with biting ants—to keep from being swept away into the dangerous currents. The situation was tense, but our guide, with remarkable skill, managed to dismantle the motor, diagnose the issue, and somehow miraculously fix it.
With the boat running again, we pressed on, eventually making it back to Coca. From there, we caught an evening flight to Quito, bringing an end to our unforgettable journey into the depths of Yasuní.