In the words of the Ecuadorian Association of Mountain Guides—known as ASEGUIM—this past Saturday, August 13, was a “black day for mountaineering.” Three climbers died and a dozen were injured after unrelated accidents occurred on three different volcanoes: Carihuairazo (16,463 feet), Illiniza Sur (17,267 feet), and Cayambe (18,996 feet).

The three deaths all occurred on Carihuairazo, a rocky subpeak of the country’s highest mountain, 20,548-foot Chimborazo. Like many of Ecuador’s volcanoes, Carihuairazo has been impacted by climate change. The mountain’s glacier was the first in Ecuador to officially be declared “extinct,” and the climb’s final section has since changed from ice to a technical scramble on rocks. Depending on snow and ice coverage, which will dictate the route taken, the 30-foot summit block is reached either via a fourth-class chimney or a sheer face with a 5.7 rating.

The disaster began when a seven-person rope team, led by an informal guide, was descending a steep snow slope from the notch below this summit block. One climber slipped and fell, and the six others were unable to arrest the fall. All seven climbers tumbled down the steep snow slope together. They ultimately crashed into a three-person team below, which consisted of ASEGUIM guide Edgar Vaca, his wife, and a friend, knocking them off the mountain as well. In total, the seven climbres fell somewhere between 500 and 650 feet, Vaca told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű.Ìę

Vaca, a veteran guide with more than 20 years of experience, said he “shouted up to the climbers ‘Arrest with your piolet!’ as they fell down towards us, but due to lack of experience they did not know how to properly react.”Ìę

Vaca did not know any of the climbers in the team of seven, and he said he could tell that they were inexperienced. “From what I saw, the one who acted as their guide was not very professional. [He had] seven people roped all together at a very short distance, maybe only [4 or 5 feet] apart,” Vaca said.Ìę

Three climbers from the original seven-person rope team were killed in the fall—two died on the scene, and a third died in a hospital. The four other climbers from the team—as well as the three climbers they struck—were all injured, some seriously. Vaca said he was only “pretty beat up, with bruises and busted knees,” and his wife suffered several broken bones.Ìę

Sixty miles to the north, on Illiniza Sur, another roped team suffered a similar disaster. The team of three climbers slipped off the saddle between the mountain’s main summit a lower subpeak called “Ambato.” Unable to arrest, they slid for approximately 500 feet down the steep face of a glacier, reaching high speeds before becoming lodged in a wide, shallow crevasse at an altitude of 16,700 feet. “It’s a miracle they didn’t slide past that point,” a former Ecuadorian guide, who asked to remain anonymous, told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. “If you do, you’re dead. You’re talking 75 or 80-degree ice after there. There’s no way you’re arresting. A lot of parties have been killed there in the past.”

Miraculously, none of the three climbers died, although all received injuries and one suffered several severe fractures. “It was a delicate rescue and very [well] executed given the characteristics of this imposing area,” said the ASEGUIM in a .Ìę

Meanwhile, on another nearby peak, Cayambe, two climbers slipped while scrambling up a steep rock slope leading to the peak’s main glacier, and both suffered broken legs.Ìę

The three incidents follow a deadly year on Ecuador’s famed volcanoes. The country’s worst mountaineering accident in three decades occurred in November, when on Chimborazo. Last month, two Canadian climbers were struck by an avalanche on the peak, leaving one dead and the other injured.

Multiple factors have likely contributed to the disasters. Ecuador’s peaks have risen in popularity, both for domestic and international climbers. Despite the country’s high elevation—Ecuador is home to ten mountains higher than 5,000 meters/16,400 feet—many of the country’s highest summits are of relatively low technical difficulty, with many requiring no more than a snow climb to reach the summit. As such, the mountains attract a high number of novice mountaineers, and are considered a viable training ground for peaks further afield.

An effort to accommodate this surge in popularity has led to a second factor: corner-cutting in the guiding industry. There are now unlicensed guides operating on the mountains, who take clients up the peaks, despite not having formal training or accreditation. But the way in which licensed outfitters structure climbing trips can also cause dangers. Some outfitters jam the expeditions into narrow windows of 36 or 48 hours, despite the need for acclimatization hikes, and the need to monitor weather and avalanche danger. The tight timelines cut down on cost.Ìę

“Take [the accident on] Illiniza Sur,” said the guide who wished to remain anonymous “It’s such a dangerous mountain right now because of glacier depletion. It’s not a mountain that should be guided every week. People should take more time on the mountain, assess the conditions, and make smarter decisions.”

While climbing alone on Cayambe earlier this year, I witnessed a guide lead his party of five climbers off-route down a steep ice-covered face. I attempted to convince them to turn back and follow the correct route, but they ignored me. The group returned to the base area nearly three hours after all other parties had made it safely back, amid a snowstorm. One of the climbers in the party appeared to be nearing hypothermia. And earlier in my climbing career, I documented my expedition on the Ecuadorian peak, Tungurahua (16,480 feet) .

Climate change is also a factor on these mountains. Warming temperatures are altering usual conditions and standard routes on Ecuador’s volcanoes, such as Carihuairazo. Glaciers are receding, leading to an increased threat of rockfall and changing crevasses, among other hazards. This can make time-tested traditional routes no longer safe or feasible. Seasonal weather patterns are also increasingly harder to predict. This year, for example, the Ecuadorian rainy season lasted nearly two months longer than normal, with heavy rains continuing in much of the country through the end of June.

With so many factors at play, it’s obvious that no one fix will eliminate the threat of accidents on Ecuador’s peaks, and mountaineering always has (and always will) involve some risk. What is also clear, however, is that although Ecuador’s peaks may not be as technically difficult as those in ranges like the Alps and Himalaya, climbing them is still a serious, dangerous endeavor. These peaks demand respect from any would-be climbers, guided or not, particularly as they transform with our planet’s changing climate.

“We stand in solidarity with the families and friends of the mountaineers who lost their lives in the Carihuairazo,” said the ASEGUIM, “and hope for a speedy recovery [for] the injured.”

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Early in the morning on Sunday, October 23, a dozen Ecuadoran climbers were hit by a D3/R4 avalanche—a rating that classifies the slide as very large and destructive—while ascending the Standard Route on the west face of 20,549-foot Chimborazo, a volcanic summit and the nation’s tallest peak.Ìę

Ecuadorian Association of Mountain Guides (Aseguim) director Francisco Arroba told Climbing that the first of four rope teams triggered the avalanche, which killed half of the climbers in its path. The bodies of three of those six were recovered on October 25, at an elevation of 18,370 feet, while the remaining three are still on the mountain.

According to Arroba, the accident marks the deadliest accident on an Ecuadorean peak since November 1993, when ten climbers were killed on Chimborazo by another avalanche in almost exactly the same spot.Ìę

Chimborazo received 2.6 feet of snow in the three days leading up to the accident. The Ecuadorian government has suspended all mountaineering above 5,000 meters (16,400 feet) in the country through November 12.ÌęBolĂ­var CĂĄceres, a meteorologist and the head of Ecuador’s Glacier Program, says the temporary ban will allow Chimborazo’s fickle snowpack to stabilize without putting any more climbers at risk.ÌęÌę

Arroba confirmed that none of the climbers involved in the accident were registered, licensed guides. And while Aseguim has not yet confirmed if any of the climbers were acting as guides, Arroba noted that Ecuador has seen an influx of illegal, unlicensed guides taking clients up the country’s mountains for notably cheap prices in recent years. “It was probably something like that [in this case],” he speculated, “but I am not sure.”Ìę

The issue of illegal guiding has been exacerbated by the pandemic. “Due to the COVID situation, everyone is out of work,” Arroba said. “People here are all looking for work, and sometimes they think that if they climb the mountain once or twice, then they have enough knowledge to guide. We have a lot of these uncertified companies that offer this type of trip for very, very cheap rates, but that’s what happens when you hire someone cheap and amateur.”Ìę

In response to these accidents, and the increasing number of inexperienced climbers attempting peaks while unguided or with illegal guides, Arroba said his association plans to release a free biweekly report about the snowpack and overall conditions on Ecuador’s mountains so that members of the community can better plan their expeditions.

Ecuador has ten mountains over 16,400 feet, and many of them, like Chimborazo and Cotopaxi (19,347 feet)—the two tallest—are extremely accessible and require little to no technical climbing by their standard routes, despite their high elevation.Ìę

“Our mountains are very easy to climb in terms of logistics,” said Arroba. “You can drive with an SUV to the parking lot of Chimborazo, and you are already at 17,000 feet. We have experienced mountain people, but we have lots of beginners for sure—from our country and foreigners. Just remember, if you are going to climb with a guide in another country, it’s very important to ask for the certifications they have.”

Felipe Proaño, a prominent Ecuadoran professional climber, told Climbing that he feels there’s a push among Ecuadorean guiding agencies, even officially licensed ones, to fast-track climbs on high-altitude peaks like Chimborazo and Cotopaxi to reduce costs. This results in cutting corners to dangerous proportions. “They want to make Chimborazo a two-day climb,” he said. “I mean, it’s Chimborazo. It’s the titan of the Andes. It’s a freaking 6,000-meter peak. That’s a climb that should be done in three days at least, if not more.”Ìę

Proaño shared advertisements for one illegal outfitter with Climbing, as an example. The outfitter priced guided two-day ascents of both Chimborazo and Cotopaxi at only $70. Ascents of 16,480-foot Tungurahua, another prominent volcanic summit, were listed by the outfitter for a mere $42. This is a rock-bottom rate compared to what professional guides charge. Aseguim mountain guide Jaime Vargas, who is certified by theÌęInternational Federation of Mountain Guides Associations and based in the town of Baños, directly below the mountain, charges $250 per person to take clients up Tungurahua, and that’s for a minimum of four guided clients. Prices are even higher for smaller groups.

“Myself and the entire Ecuadorean outdoor industry want to express condolences to the friends and family of the victims, first and foremost,” said Proaño. “But we have a serious problem with demand here. Aseguim has done a great job of trying to train aspiring guides about topics like avalanche conditions, but Ecuador’s climbing scene is growing and growing, both from Ecuadoran climbers and foreign ones. The refugios can’t accommodate the demand. I was personally rescued by hand, with no support or helicopter, when I was 16 years old, and those things have not improved. It’s been almost 20 years since then, and we still do not have high-altitude helicopters operating here, nor an on-call emergency group, public or private, designed to operate in alpine conditions.”Ìę

Chimborazo’s rapidly shrinking glacier has led to an increase in rockfall (which killed an official guide on the mountain last year). The peak’s normal route, which is the easiest, fastest, and sees the most traffic, is no longer its safest. This is particularly true for commercial expeditions, says Proaño.Ìę

“All of us who know about avalanche and snow conditions know that they are climbing Chimbo through maybe the fastest part of the mountain, but definitely not the safest part,” he said. I always try to promote climbing from the eastern side, not the traditional west-face route.” A high camp has been created on the route to limit use of the refugio, which is now threatened by rockfall, but overall the route is still much more dangerous than alternate routes on the east face, a result of the growing moraine below the shrinking glacier and the avalanche-prone slopes it crosses.

“We’ve seen this mountain mutate due to climate change in recent years,” Proaño said, “and instead of trying to rotate the commercial climbing on Chimborazo to a safer face, a safer route, everyone gets sucked into this tunnel vision of saving cost, saving time. It’s tragic.”

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David Kushner always knew that his assignment to write about a mysterious cave in the rainforest of Ecuador would be challenging and a bit risky. Cueva de los Tayos, or Cave of the Oilbirds, has for decades beckoned adventurers and tantalized fans of the occult who believe that it contains artifacts that could rewrite human history. In recent years, though, Tayos has attracted different kinds of seekers—artists and storytellers hoping to capture its energy and bring it out into the world. People like , daughter of a legendary explorer who helped make the cave famous, and Grammy-nominated British electronic musician Jon Hopkins, who traveled there and came back inspired to create a . But what Kushner never imagined was that his own experience inside the cave would change him forever.

This episode is brought to you by Toyota, a company that wants to help you find joy by exploring America’s scenic byways. No matter what kind of adventure you’re after, there’s a Toyota designed to get you there. Learn more at .

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“The problem with giant tortoises is that they really love my papayas,” said David SolĂ­s as he looked past me towardÌęhis orchard, shifting his weight to get a better look in case one of the mega-reptiles was helping itself to lunch at that very moment.Ìę

It was OctoberÌę2020,Ìęand we were standing on SolĂ­s’s farmstead outside the tourist center of Puerto Ayora, on the GalĂĄpagosÌęIsland of Santa Cruz. Clouds were rolling down from volcanic peaks above; below, only a few Ecuadorean visitors wandered around town. Earlier in the year, in March, as the virus caused havoc on mainland Ecuador, the islands went into strict lockdown.ÌęWhen theyÌęofficially at the start of July, fewÌęactually made the journey in the months to follow. Around 300,000 visitors had been expected in 2020, though by year’s endÌęjust 75,519 had been registered. With around of the islands’ $800 million annual income coming from tourism, their absence was a disaster.Ìę

Yet, for SolĂ­s, things didn’t seem exactly catastrophic—throughout 2020, cash had lost a lot of its power on the islands, and farmers like him, able to provide for themselves and their communities, felt newly enriched. “When I was younger, we traded everything and money wasn’t so important,” he said as we walked past his papaya trees. Farther up the slope, he grew sugarcane, while neighboring farms specializedÌęin coffee. “We’ve gone back to that now, and I have more time for everything,” he said. “Before, I felt like I was running to make money, so maybe I prefer things to stay like this.”

While individual mayors oversee the archipelago’s five inhabited islands, various local government departments—from public health to tourism to environment—are in charge of protecting and managing some 97 percent of the islands’ land as the , as well as the Galapagos Marine Reserve that encircles the islands. With so many involved parties, even without input from the central government in the capital of Quito, the islands can be a Frankensteinian monster of bureaucracy. As traffic and then goods started to slow from the continent, GalĂĄpageños turned to each other and a simpler way of life to take care of themselves.Ìę

During the strict 11-week lockdown that began in March, the majority of the 30,000 residents entered into a barter system. Fruit was traded for meat; milk for English lessons. Clothes were handed down,Ìęnot just within families but through the community. At one point, SolĂ­s swapped 50 oranges for some dental work. Elsewhere, Brett and Maria Peters, the affable owners of GalĂĄpagos Deli in Puerto Ayora, traded produce they couldn’t use in their restaurant for houseplants to decorate their new home. Nature guide Lola Villacreses, realizing she wasn’t going to be aboard any cruise ships for the foreseeable future, did a crash course online and began growing fruits and vegetables on her smallholding in the fertile Santa Cruz Highlands. During my two-month stay, whenever I bumped into her around Puerto Ayora, she gave me a bucket of tomatoes.Ìę

“Things have been changing very fast. All the money used to be in the town,” said Matias Espinosa, a dive master and naturalist on Santa Cruz whose businesses had been crippled by the pandemic. “Covid froze all our enterprise. Instead, we have this trading now, so these farmers are the kings of the island.”

Cash wasn’t abandoned entirely—even during the strictest lockdown measures from March to June, locals had to use it to pay for fuel for fishing boats that brought in catch on behalf of the community (there was no shortage of fuel, due to an excess created from the lack of ship, taxi, and tour bus usage), among other transactions. Upon returning, the day’s bounty was announced over megaphones, and fish that would ordinarily be exported to Miami at great expense was taken door to door and simply given away, with the understanding that the fisherman and their families would be taken care of with other goods and services in return.Ìę

At times, I thought this sounded Edenic: travesty bonding a community at the very edge of the world, allowing them to eschew money in favor of organic trade and kindness. Inevitably, it was more complicated than that. Many shops and restaurants around Puerto Ayora had been shuttered, and there was no respite from crippling interest on business loans. Of the fleet of around 100 tourist boats and ships that would ordinarily cruise the islands, just three were in service when I visited. Owners were concerned that if tourist dollars didn’t return and revive at least some of these businesses, things would grow desperate and residents may have to resort to fishing in sanctioned areas or hunting endemic species, both of which were common practice before tourism spurred conservation designations in the late 1960s.Ìę

“The Galápagos has shown that tourism can directly support conservation,” said Espinosa, who had spent years training divers on Isabela Island to become nature guides. Before, some of those divers made a living by scouring the ocean floor for sea cucumber and lobster to sell to Chinese exporters. He felt as though the eyes of the world were watching to see how the islands managed ecology and tourism, especially in the COVID-19 era. While the pandemic has forced the islands to adapt in some ways, the longer-term effects remain unclear as the government focuses on its immediate financial crises. But Espinosa has hope that this period will have a lingering effect, at least in the way it’s proven how adaptable the islands and its people are. “I think we need to go back to Mister Charles Darwin,” said Espinosa, referring to the British scientist, whose theories on evolution were partly formed by a five-week visit to the Galápagos in 1835. “The tourism industry needs its own kind of Darwinism. How can we shrink and survive and reset?”

Two hours west from Santa Cruz via a bumpy speedboat ride is Isabela, the largest and wildest of the Galpagos Islands. Comprising five volcanoes fused together by eruptions and time, Isabela is the most remote of the archipelago’s islands; west of it is nothing but the Pacific OceanÌęuntil you hit the Papuan island of Biak, while heading south will eventually get you to Antarctica’s Ross Ice Shelf.Ìę

Despite having more land massÌęthan all the other islands combined, Isabela is home to just 2,200 people, who inhabit a tiny sliver between the volcanoes and sea. It’s also the only stretch of land in the GalĂĄpagos not designated as a national park. Consequently, it doesn’t have much infrastructure. Even in an ordinary year, the rudimentary airstrip took only a few light aircraft from other islands, but in 2020, it had barely been used. San Cristobal, home to the islands’ largest medical facility and its only ventilators, is at least four hours away by boat. This remoteness was often sold as Isabela’s great appeal—the end of the line, away from the mass tourism on Santa Cruz—but COVID-19 rendered that wildness a potentially fatal liability for tourists and residents alike.

When I met guide Pablo Valladares by the island’s main dock, Isabela had only just opened up to outsiders. Valladares, who leads hiking and nature tours across the island, explained that I was his first guest since February, and that after our days together in late October, he didn’t have anything else booked for the rest of 2020.Ìę

Valladares’s availability was unheard of—the last time Sir David Attenborough and his BBC crew came to Isabela, he was their local fixer. His day rate was high, his availability low, and then the world shut down. For several months, he’d been spending his time surfing and tending to a small farm, grateful he had some savings. It wasn’t ideal, but he was nonetheless relieved to have been able to make ends meet.Ìę

The previous spring, Valladares had been on a trip of his own, to Nicaragua’s Corn Islands, when the pandemic broke and heÌęfound himself in a frantic dash home to beat Ecuador’s national lockdown. With his wife and son, Valladares made it as far as his sister’s apartment in the plague-ridden city of Guayaquil before the planes stopped. After a grueling three-month lockdown there, the family returned to Isabela, where they quarantined. On arriving, Valladares found that his neighbor had dropped off a basket of fruit from his garden. These care packages continued to arrive every day until he could finally cross the street and shake the man’s hand. He repaid this debt by teaching the neighbor’sÌęson how to surf.

As of March 2021, Santa Cruz has seen a slight improvement in tourist numbers, reducing its dependency on bartering. Though many local businesses remain closed, supply lines from the mainland are no longer an issue, and with the arrival of vaccines, hope for more of a revival later this year is growing. The same cannot be said on remote Isabela, where the reliance on trading has continued in lieu of visitor dollars.ÌęThe internet connection on the island is notoriously unreliable, but there is enough bandwidth to coordinate through a huge and sometimes unruly WhatsApp group of 256 members, the maximum allowed by the app.

Valladares explained that this ramshackle marketplace was also being supplemented by hunting feral animals. In the 1800s, buccaneers brought animals like pigs, goats, donkeys, and cattle to the islands, where they quickly broke loose, settled, and started causing havoc for endemic species, trampling on bird nests, eating young tortoises, and spreading seeds of invasive flora.Ìę

For decades, the progeny of these original invaders have been reduced, though they still inhabitÌęthe park and roaming freely on Isabela. At the start of the pandemic, residents revived a form of hunting, heading out of town on horseback and returning with feral cattle or pigs.Ìę

“Hunting has been happening on the GalĂĄpagos since the first settlers were here,” Valladares told me the following day as we hiked towardÌęthe Sierra Negra volcano, a blasted, blackened peak that rises above Puerto Villamil, the only real settlement on Isabela. “Of course, back then they were going after the giant tortoises, too, but it wasn’t really a hunt, more like a collection.”

With more wild mammalsÌęabundant, no one seriously looks at the reptiles in that light anymore. Besides, tourists are unlikely to come back if the locals are eating the emblem of the islands, Valladares added. In any case, he expects it will take at least two years for tourism to fully recover here. In the meantime, trading among the islanders will need to continue. “We have to adapt,” he said. “It’s one of the golden rules here on GalĂĄpagos.”

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The world’s most mysterious cave is difficult to reach.

To get to Cueva de los Tayos—Cave of the Oilbirds—drive east out of Ecuador’s capital city of Quito for eight hours along narrow, potholed roads that twist through cloudforest above the Amazon Basin. Pull over outside the small town of Mendez, and walk a path to the bank of the muddy Santiago River, where you’ll see locals hauling 150-pound bushels of bananas on their shoulders. Lower yourself into a long wooden canoe and glide past cascading waterfalls to the start of a dirt trail. Hike five hours in the humidity, over Puntilla de Coangos mountain, then up to the summit of Bocana de Coangos. The trail ends at a clearing with three thatch huts, home to a dozen Shuar, the ancient tribe that guards the cave.

The Shuar are the Indigenous people of the region, legendary warriors known for shamanism and for shrinking the heads of their enemies. Tayos beckons from deep inside territory that is managed and protected by the tribe, and visitors must take great care when navigating the local politics and customs. Theo Toulkaridis, a geology professor and researcher at the University of the Armed Forces in Ecuador, who is a leading expert on Tayos, learned this the hard way in 2014. After a few days exploring the cave, he climbed out to find 20 angry Shuar waiting for him. Toulkaridis had hired local guides, but other Shuar were upset that they had not been hired as well. “My guide hugged me close and whispered, ‘Don’t resist,’” Toulkaridis recalls. Then a Shuar woman whipped him with a belt.

Tayos is named for the brown-feathered, hook-billed nocturnal birds that dwell inside the cave alongside thousands of bats. The birds act a lot like bats, spending their days in darkness and heading out at night to forage for fruit. They’re called oilbirds ­because of their fatty chicks, which the Shuar capture and reduce to oil. The cave is also rumored to contain artifacts of a lost civilization. A 1972 bestselling book by Swiss author Erich von DĂ€niken, called , claimed that Tayos held carved passageways and a “metal library” of tablets written in an unknown language. Von DĂ€niken has long believed that aliens once inhabited the earth, and the tablets fit his theory that extraterrestrials helped ancient people evolve. The notion has been criticized as pseudoscientific and racist, attributing the achievements of now marginalized earthlings to ­interlopers from space. Yet it spawned a cottage industry of books, conventions, and TV shows, ­including the History Channel’s Ancient Aliens, which premiered in 2010 and is one of the network’s most popular programs.

A couple of years after The Gold of the Gods was published, the late Scottish explorer Stan Hall assembled a team of 100 scientists, cavers, British and Ecuadorean military personnel, and, remarkably, astronaut Neil Armstrong, who served as a figurehead, and led them into Tayos to unravel the mystery. What they found astonished them. Deep inside, in spots where it would have been impossible to lug machinery, there were stone passageways that appeared to have been cut at right angles and then polished. They also discovered a burial site dating back to 1500 B.C.

“The cadaver, as if surprised by the sudden intrusion after so many lonely centuries, crumbled to dust when touched,” Hall writes in , his book about the expedition. Though the team didn’t find the metal library, Armstrong put the adventure “up there with the moon landing.”

Beyond that, only a small number of intrepid hikers, wide-eyed UFO believers, and from Brigham Young University—who believed that the metal tablets might be linked to the Mormon faith—have made it inside. The cave has also attracted interest from geologists and archaeologists, who have mapped portions using 3D technology to better understand its scope. (Roughly four miles of the cave have been mapped so far, but an estimated three miles remain.) Toulkaridis calls it “a natural laboratory which is fundamentally untouched.”

To enter Tayos, you need more than the permission of the Shuar. You also need a blessing from the cave itself. I learn this late one starry night in August of 2019, in Kuankus, the tiny Shuar settlement, which is located about one mile uphill from Tayos. Getting here has been a brutal ten-hour slog in sweltering heat. The trek included crossing a rickety rope bridge high above the rapids and trudging in mud through thick jungle loaded with giant black bullet ants, so named because being bit by one feels like being shot. The plan is to stay in Kuankus for the night, then enter the cave with our Shuar guides the next morning.

I’m here with a small team led by Eileen Hall, Stan Hall’s 34-year-old half-Scottish, half-Ecuadoran daughter, who continued her father’s quest to understand the true history and power of the cave after he died of prostate cancer in 2008. Eileen, who lives in London, is artistic and spiritual, a former architect who now conducts what she calls energy-healing work with private clients. Along with another architect, Tamsin Cunningham, she is also a cofounder of , a company that explores the cave through writing, music, and meditation. Today, with her long brown hair in a ponytail, she’s dressed in a black Ecuadorean shirt, long gray hiking pants, and blue rubber boots caked in mud. This is her fourth expedition to the cave. When I ask her what I should expect, she tells me that Tayos is “a psychedelic experience.”

After sipping from a wooden bowl of chicha, a chalky, alcoholic drink made from fermented yuca (prepared by women who chew it and then spit into the bowl), we gather with the Shuar around a campfire. A shaman—a stout, middle-aged woman with long, dark hair—leads us through the permission ceremony. We hold hands while in Spanish she thanks the stars, the moon, the earth. She removes a smoldering log from the fire, waving its smoke behind each of us in a blessing. Finally, we take turns asking for permission from Arutam, the all-powerful force in the Shuar religion, to enter Tayos. After a few moments of silence, the shaman tells us that the spirit has allowed us inside what she calls “the womb of the earth.”

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A scroll through Instagram is a sure-fire way to get travel-inspired. But plug those mountain townsÌęand remote islands into your Google flight search, and the logistics and costs involved can make anywhere far from a major city feel inaccessible.

But arm yourself with some insiderÌęintel, like when to book your flight and how to get creative with your connections, and you can make almost any obscure destination a reality. We consulted industry experts for their tips on getting to and from out-there locations on a budget.

Get Creative with Low-Cost Airlines and Regional AirportsÌę

There’s a where low-cost carriers offer better fares out of smaller, regional airports than large hubs. The more popular airlines dominate big airports because they can take over a terminal and service a massive amount of people daily. In this model, regional airlines find it harder to compete due to outsized brand recognition, so they turn to tiny, local airports.Ìę

“In the U.S., for example, you can save money on flying with Norwegian Airlines to Dublin out of [upstate New York’s] Stewart Airport, located an hour and a half by airport shuttle (from $20) from New York City, for a median airfare of about $385, versus flying out of John F. Kennedy Airport [on the same airline], which can cost upwards of $500,” says Steven Sintra, regional director of North America at . Carriers like Frontier and Southwest are also known for servicing smaller airports to lure customers. You don’t have to stick with one airline for your entire booking, either. According to Sintra, “Oftentimes, booking two one-way tickets on different airlines can save you money versus booking a traditional round-trip ticket.”Ìę

For your international arrival, this argument is inverted. Because flying into a smaller airport is usually your only option, direct flights from international hubs are typically sky-high. According to Jesse Neugarten, founder of budget flight-finding site , “Ninety-five percent of the time, it’s going to be more expensive to fly directly into smaller airports than bigger ones,” he says. “It’s simple supply and demand.”

The solution? Fly into a major airport and book a separate connecting flight to a smaller one. He gives the example of the Galapagos Islands, off the coast of Ecuador. “Roundtrip flights from U.S. hubs to the islands run roughly $1,500 on average,” he says. “[Instead], you can fly roundtrip into Quito for $300 to $500, then book another roundtrip to the Galapagos for around $200. Just by doing that, you’ve saved [as much as] $1,000.”Ìę

Time Your Booking

Although some of the old-school advice you’ve heard, like booking late at night or on Tuesdays, has largely been discredited, timing your booking correctly is still crucial to ensuring you get the best price.Ìę

First off, start your searchÌętwo to three months in advance for domestic flights and three to five for international flights, suggests Neugarten. When you see a great fare that far out, his advice is to jump on it—it won’t last long, and you’re unlikely to find a cheaper price by waiting. He also notes that if you can be flexible, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday are the cheapest days to fly. Most booking sites, include Google Flights, have a calendar view option that allows you to compare ticket prices across days and months to quickly find the cheapest travel dates.Ìę

Time of year can also make a difference. “We typically see a decrease in median airfare for those searching for travel in January, as opposed to April or May,” Sintra says. “This is likely because they’re traveling in March or April—two of the cheapest travel months of the year.” The two most expensive months are easy to guess: July and August, where most destinations enjoy warmer and drier climes.

Save on Rental Cars

If you can’t fly into a small local airport, your other option is to fly into a large airport and make up that distance by renting a car. Between credit cards and discount memberships, there are plenty of ways to knock some cash off of your rental.Ìę

or offer some of the best discounts around. With a Costco membership ($60 a year), you get a 30-percent discount on major car rental brands such as Budget, Enterprise, and Hertz, as well as the ability to add a second driver free of charge.Ìę

Car sharing companies like , which services cities across the U.S., Canada, Germany, and the U.K., have made car rental more accessible in destinations that typically didn’t have a market for it. You can book a variety of cars and SUVs online and many car owners will even provide delivery to the airport or a convenient location. For more out-of-the-way destinations, oftentimes, your best cost-saving bet is going through local companies, like in Iceland and in New Zealand.

Make the Most of Your Layover

Traveling to distant spots—and taking advantage of those handy connections—usually means a long layover. Sintra encourages travelers to not just endure a layover, but to enjoy it. “Several airlines such as Icelandic Air, Finnair, Air Canada, and TAP offer stopover programs so strategic travelers can get two vacations for the price of one,” he says. Kayak’s recent Travel Awards Guide offers a list of top stopover destinations, including ReykjavĂ­k, Helsinki, and Panama City.ÌęSome of those airlines, like TAP (which makes pit stops in Lisbon and Porto, Portugal), even offer upgrades that let you explore the city for five days with discounts on hotels and restaurants.

If leaving the airport isn’t an option, you can still get a much-needed reprieve without stepping out of the double doors. Frequent travelers should get a credit card, such as , that includes lounge access. Or check out , a lounge-crashing app that often allows you to purchase access for rates that compete with a typical airport meal.ÌęAt other airports, you can partake in luxuries without a pass at all: Munich, Dubai, and London Heathrow are among the airports that have nap pods, beer gardens, yoga rooms, and pet parks. Ìę

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Backcountry ski touring is the ultimate winter experience. Sure,Ìęyou could plan one yourself, but hiring a guide to book you the best backcountry huts and show you their favorite hidden powder stashes will ensure your next trip goes smoothly. Heck, they’ll even break trail for you.ÌęBut the best part? From snow camping in an expedition tent to posting up in a lavish, off-the-grid lodge, you can goÌęas hardcore or luxe as you want. These multi-day ski tours are perfect for everyone from backcountry newbies to more experiencedÌęski mountaineers.

Valhalla Mountain Touring

New Denver, British Columbia

This will pick you up in a snowcat and deliver you to a backcountry lodge in B.C.’s Selkirk Mountains, where you’ll spend six days dropping 2,000-vertical-foot, powder-filled linesÌęthrough the high alpine. You won’t exactly be roughing it. The lushÌętwo-storyÌęlodge has seven private bedrooms, a sauna, Wi-Fi, and delicious, hearty meals prepared by a cook and skier named Annie.ÌęFrom $1,950

Big Sky Backcountry Guides

Bozeman, Montana

Big Sky Backcountry Guides'sÌę earns its name. FromÌęlate March throughÌęearly April, they'llÌęlead you deep into the Tobacco Root Range west of Bozeman and set up a deluxe snow-camping outpost 12 miles from the nearest access point. For four days, you’ll send world-class couloirs rarely accessed by day-trippers before returning to one of the most comfortable winter camps around,Ìęcomplete with expedition-quality tents,Ìęa propane heater in the group shelter, home-cooked meals, and bonfires each night. Basically, it’s expedition skiing without the suffering—porters even help haul in the heavy gear. From $1,500 ÌęÌęÌęÌę

Alpenglow Expeditions

Quito, Ecuador

If you’re a backcountry enthusiast who’s dreamed of getting into ski mountaineering, consider Alpenglow Expeditions. On its 11-day , you’llÌęclimb, summit, and ski two of Ecuador’s tallest volcanoes, 19,347-foot Cotopaxi and 18,997-foot Cayambe. Designed forÌęburgeoning ski mountaineers who already have some high-altitude and steep-skiing experience, the trip is perfect for thoseÌęlooking to learn technical skillsÌęlike acclimatization, glacier travel, and crevasse-rescue techniques. $4,750

Northern Alpine Guides

Lofoten Islands, Norway

EachÌęFebruary through May, ÌęoffersÌęthree-to-seven-day ski-touring trips around the Lofoten Islands, where guides will lead you on summit-to-sea adventures that end in arctic fjords and charming fishing villages. You’ll spot the northern lights while sleeping in the family-run, waterfront , which has a sauna, aprĂšs-ski waffle buffet, and cozy cabin accommodations. From $160ÌęÌę

High Sierra Snowcat and Yurt

Bridgeport, California

You can do guided, single-day outings with , but you’ll want a few days to truly experience the vast couloirs, wide-open bowls, and peaks of the eastern Sierra Nevada. You’ll stay in bunks in a remote backcountry yurtÌęaccessed via snowcat, andÌęguides will prep meals and give safety briefings each day. The snowcat helps with shuttles up to higher ground, but you’ll earn your turns from there. From $295

Points North Heli-șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs

Cordova, Alaska

Want to experience heli-skiing but don’t have the budget for a $10,000 trip? Check out ’s weeklong, helicopter-assisted touring trips. Its backcountry base camp reopens next year, so for this year’sÌęexpeditions,Ìęwhich will happen in March, you’ll spend three days being dropped by a helicopter into the Chugach Mountains and three days ski touring from Cordova’s . $3,850, including meals and lodging

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If you’re planning a trip overseas, consider this: some countries will cost you a ton more than others. The U.S. dollar rose against many international currencies in 2017 and through the beginning of 2018, which means it’s a good time to be choosy, says Todd Knoop, a professor of economics at Iowa’s Cornell College and author of the bookÌę. “There are a few places that are good bargains right now,” he says.

Knoop has traveled to every continent except Antarctica, and he often visits places where he knows he can get a sweetÌędeal. We asked Knoop which countries would be his best bet in 2019 to take advantage of a strong U.S. dollar.

China

“Something good should come out of this trade war with China, like affordable travel,” he says. “The Chinese yuan depreciated by 5 to 10 percent in 2018.ÌęBefore this depreciation, China was still a relatively cheap place to travel, and it’s only gotten cheaper.” Plus, China is as economically and culturally diverse a destination as you can get—Knoop describes it as hundreds of countries sewn into one. He encourages travelersÌęto visit western China, which is less westernizedÌęthan places like Beijing. Check out pandas, bamboo forests, and teahouses in the Sichuan province or go hiking in Yunnan’sÌę, one of the deepest in the world.

Ecuador

“Your purchasing power is huge in Ecuador,” Knoop says, and the country uses the U.S. dollar, which makes traveling thereÌęeven easier for Americans. Ecuador also has every type of terrain, from snowcapped volcanoes to jungles to beaches. “Everyone wants to go to the GalĂĄpagos Islands, but you can see a lifetime of biodiversity just on the mainland,” he says. Ìęto climb 19,347-foot Cotopaxi, try a butterfly-spotting safari, cruise the Amazon River, or kayak its world-class whitewater.

Spain and Portugal

“The dollar remains high against the euro, and Spain and Portugal are not as affluent as the rest of Europe, so there are still good deals to be found,” Knoop says. Spain is great for snaggingÌęinexpensive accommodations, especially short-term rentals, because Spaniards have a long tradition of trading vacation homes among friends. “Now, with the advent of Airbnb, those places are available to those who aren’t Spaniards.ÌęIt’s amazing what you can get for $50 a night.”

South Africa

Your dollar will go far in the small townships around Johannesburg. “You can go with local people to nightclubs, churches—it’s a fantastic, authentic experience of how people are actually living,” he says.ÌęCheck out the township of , where you can visit Nelson Mandela’s former home, drink locally brewed beer, and eat curry cooked over an open fire from a street vendor. At , a comfortable backpacker’s lodge, guides will take you around the township viaÌębicycle.

Argentina

“The dollar has doubled in value against the Argentine peso over the course of last year,” Knoop says, and the country’s currency depreciation means that its tourism sectors will be looking for business. Wander the parks and museums in stunningÌę,Ìęventure farther south into to spot penguins in the Punta Tombo National Reserve, or go sea kayaking off the coast of Ushuaia, a city of some 60,000 residentsÌęon the southernmost tip of South America.

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From kayaker and filmmaker , Jondachi tells the story of young man and his connection to the Rio Jondachi in Ecuador. The Rio Jondachi is a source many things in his life, including fish for his family, a spiritual relationship, and beautiful whitewater. Mckay was drawn to this region because of an , but rather than focus on conservation alone, Mckay approached it differently. “My thoughts were to make a film about the spiritual connection to a resource,” he says, “and how that needs to be valued for all of us to really gain the most out of life.”Ìę

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In the heart of Ecuador's high country lies Chimborazo, the highest mountain in the country. For centuries, ice merchants retrieved ice from a glacierÌęon the mountain and sold it at local markets. To pay homage to this tradition, mountain bikers Eric Porter and Mike Hopkins with photographer Mason Mashon rode with their own collection ofÌęglacial ice all the way to the ocean 17,000 feet below. Their route on the Mama Rumi trail took them through dense rainforests, local villages, and into the home of the man who first blazed theÌętrail. Find more from Porter and Mashon on Instagram and .

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