The outrigger boat moved slowly through the estuary of Sitio Abubakar, taking us deeper inside the thick mangrove forest. On both sides, roots gripped the muddy banks like fingers holding the shoreline in place. Branches leaned over the water, birds called from somewhere inside the green, and the farther we went, the clearer it became: this place was not empty scenery. It was alive.
That Friday morning, I joined a team of wildlife specialists we engaged to conduct a three-day rapid biodiversity assessment for a proposed mangrove ecotourism site in Barangay Calasaguen, Brooke’s Point.
The assessment documented 36 species within the project area: 27 birds, five mammals, and four herpetofauna. Among them were threatened and/or endemic species such as the Palawan frogmouth (Batrachostomus chaseni), Asian small-clawed otter (Aonyx cinereus), and Palawan water monitor (Varanus palawanensis). The site is also home to mangrove species such as bakawan lalaki (Rhizophora apiculata), bakawan babae (R. mucronata), piapi (Avicennia marina), and pagatpat (Sonneratia alba).
The mangroves were so thick that it was easy to understand why they matter beyond tourism. They help shield the community from storm surges and strong waves. Along the way, we came across a small motorized fishing boat tucked within the waterway. Local fishers use the area to shelter boats during typhoon season.
That morning reminded me that before a place becomes a tourist destination, it is first a habitat, fishing area, coastal shield, and part of community life.
This fieldwork is part of my current engagement with the Municipal Government of Brooke’s Point, which is planning a mangrove ecotourism initiative in the area. I have had the privilege of working closely with its environmental and tourism planners, mainly from the Municipal Tourism Office.
My role is to support Municipal Tourism Office chief Arlene Piramide and EnP Angelique Valones through technical writing, research integration, and synthesis of inputs from wildlife specialists, architects, engineers, and other experts into one management plan. We also made sure the plan is informed by standards prescribed by the Global Sustainable Tourism Council and the Department of Environment and Natural Resources, so it remains locally grounded, compliant with environmental laws, and guided by broader principles for responsible tourism.
Seen from the boat, this project is not just about putting up a boardwalk. It is about asking how people can enter a beautiful place without damaging what makes it beautiful in the first place. That question requires science, law, and communication to work together: science to understand the limits of the place, law to turn those limits into rules and responsibilities, and communication to help people understand and support them.
From this work, I carry three takeaways.
First, ecotourism is not just tourism in nature.
A boardwalk, view deck, signage, or visitor center does not automatically make a place “eco.” Real ecotourism requires planning before promotion. You have to understand what lives there, where the water flows, where waste might go, and what activities could disturb wildlife or the community.
In Calasaguen, the mangroves are not empty space waiting for construction. They are habitat, coastal defense, nursery ground, carbon sink, and source of local memory. Development should therefore be careful, low-impact, and properly regulated. The goal is not to bring people closer to nature at any cost. The goal is to let people appreciate the place without harming it.
This is why biodiversity assessment matters. Before deciding where visitors should walk, stop, take photos, or watch birds, planners must first know what species are present and which areas should be avoided or managed carefully. Wildlife should not be the one adjusting to us. We should be the ones adjusting to them.
Second, culture should not be treated as decoration.
Too often, culture in tourism is reduced to performances, costumes, food displays, or souvenir items. These may be part of the experience, but culture is deeper than that. We have to ask whose stories are being told, who decides how they are presented, and whether local people are merely background characters or part of shaping the site.
For Brooke’s Point, this matters because its identity is shaped by both natural richness and cultural diversity. Ecotourism can strengthen pride of place if local knowledge, oral histories, livelihood practices, foodways, and community values are treated with respect. A good ecotourism site should have meaning. Its trails, signs, view decks, and visitor spaces should help guests understand the relationship between the people and the place. Visitors should leave not only with photos, but with a better understanding of why biodiversity matters and why the community’s stories deserve respect.
Third, environmental compliance and community engagement must go together.
Compliance should not be treated as paperwork done after decisions have already been made. It should help us think ahead. What happens to wastewater and solid waste? Will lights or noise disturb wildlife? Will food operations create pollution? Will construction damage roots or block water movement?
These may sound like small details, but they matter. Even small tourism activities can create bigger problems over time if they are not managed.
At the same time, safeguards will only work if people understand and support them. Communities should not be consulted only to approve a pre-made plan. They should help identify risks, set rules, manage visitors, protect the mangroves, and benefit from the livelihoods created. When local people become guides, stewards, vendors, storytellers, monitors, and decision-makers, conservation becomes shared responsibility.
A popular tourism campaign can damage the very place it promotes if it is not guided by science, proper regulation, and clear communication.
For Palawan, the challenge is no longer whether we can attract tourists. We already know that we can. The harder question is whether we can build destinations that remain beautiful, useful, inclusive, and alive long after the first wave of visitors arrives.
Brooke’s Point offers a process worth learning from: start with the place, listen to the community, bring in local and technical experts, respect what the ecosystem can sustain, and treat compliance as part of good governance, not as a burden.
Ecotourism should not be rushed just because a place is beautiful. In the end, its success should not be measured only by arrivals, fees, or photos taken. It should also be measured by healthier ecosystems, stronger livelihoods, preserved cultural memory, and communities that can say: this development did not happen to us, it happened with us.
