One of the solar-powered boats in the river at the Wayusentsa community, Kapawi, Ecuador. A growing fleet of electric boats ferries Indigenous people through the heart of the Ecuadorean Amazon, providing a cheaper and greener alternative to gas-powered vessels. Photo / Federico Rios Escobar, the New York Times
One of the solar-powered boats in the river at the Wayusentsa community, Kapawi, Ecuador. A growing fleet of electric boats ferries Indigenous people through the heart of the Ecuadorean Amazon, providing a cheaper and greener alternative to gas-powered vessels. Photo / Federico Rios Escobar, the New York Times
On a sweltering Sunday morning, 20 Indigenous men in the Ecuadorian Amazon boarded a canoe in their community near the border with Peru.
Their destination was a neighbouring village 45 minutes away by river.
They were athletes, headed to an inter-village sports competition, a cherished tradition that strengthens communitybonds.
But it is one that had not happened in years, and for many participants, it was a reunion of sorts.
“I hadn’t visited Kusutkao since I was a kid,” said Luciano Peas, 28, a member of the Achuar Indigenous group, referring to the village they were headed to.
The journey between the isolated villages was made possible thanks to their boat, a traditional river canoe aside from one distinctive feature on top: 24 solar panels that harness sunlight to power an engine.
The canoe is part of a growing fleet of electric-powered vessels providing a cheaper and greener alternative to diesel-powered boats that typically travel the Indigenous region’s waterways.
The first solar-powered boat was launched in 2017, and today, such boats play critical roles in this remote corner of the Amazon, becoming a source of pride for the Achuar, who helped develop and expand the network of solar-powered canoes.
The vessels, which can accommodate as many as 20 passengers, have ferried children to schools, transported the sick to clinics and even carried mourners to a funeral.
“My wife was haemorrhaging after a miscarriage,” said Ninki Roland Antik, who lives in Kusutkao, but a solar-powered vessel was able to quickly get her to a local health centre. “Thanks to that, my wife is alive,” he added.
A woman boarding a solar powered boat in the Wayusentsa community. Photo / Federico Rios Escobar, the New York Times
Isolated villages are part of the landscape in the province of Pastaza, a sprawling stretch of rainforest roughly the size of Belgium that is home to about 7000 Achuar people living in dozens of scattered communities across the dense foliage.
Unlike other parts of Ecuador, where roads connect towns and cities, only a third of the province has roads. The rest is reachable only by boat — or by expensive chartered flights.
So rivers are not just part of the landscape. They are an essential link between villages. For generations, the Achuar navigated these waters in traditional dugout canoes, their movements dictated by the rivers’ shifting currents.
But in more recent decades, another kind of vessel took over: the peque peque.
Named for the sputtering roar of its diesel-powered engine (“peque peque peque peque”), these boats have been the primary mode of transportation in the Peruvian and Ecuadorian Amazon since the 1990s.
In Pastaza alone, there are over 200 fossil fuel-powered trips per day, according to Andrés Granda, 34, the provincial prefect, its top elected official.
Their introduction revolutionised movement in the region, allowing people to travel faster and farther.
But it came at a steep price, say the Achuar and environmental advocates.
The boat’s motor releases plumes of exhaust and leaks fuel into the rivers, polluting the water and affecting the region’s wildlife.
A 2022 study by an Ecuadorian researcher found that fuel spills had depleted fish stocks, making it harder to fish, which is a major source of livelihood for the Achuar.
“There used to be plenty of cachamas, bocachicos and tanglas here,” said Anchumir Tentets, 67, an Achuar elder, naming several kinds of fish. “But when the peque peque arrived, the fish disappeared.”
Beyond pollution, the diesel boats, which can carry up to five passengers, are expensive to operate.
Their fuel, though it is extracted from the Amazon, is expensive. A single gallon can cost up to US$10 — more than five times the price in an Ecuadorian city.
As a result, rides are also expensive, from US$5 to US$10, which is more than many Achuar can afford.
“When I had no money, I couldn’t travel to the city to collect my government subsidy,” said Anchumir Tentets, who lives in Kusutkao.
Finding an alternative was vital to the Indigenous people. An old Achuar legend combined with the help of a visiting American teacher led them to an answer: a canoe that worked with the sun’s might.
In 2009, a young American named Oliver Utne arrived in Yutzuintza, another Achuar village, as part of a now disbanded English-teaching programme meant to help Indigenous people establish a local tourism business.
Utne, 39, found himself immersed in a world where time moved slowly, where dawn began with the ritual of wayusadas, morning discussions that followed the communal drinking of a sacred Amazonian infusion made from the wayusa plant, which is known for its cleansing properties.
He also learned about Achuar mythology, hearing stories of a mystical electric eel, known as Tapiatpia in the Achuar language, that transported beings who lived beneath the river’s surface.
Utne eventually went back to the United States, where he trained as a solar technician. He later decided to return to the Ecuadorian Amazon with an idea: What if the Achuar built their own modern Tapiatpia, a solar-powered canoe?
So the Achuar and Utne started a nongovernmental organisation, Kara Solar, to adapt the human-powered canoes that Indigenous people had invented and long used.
Mauro Mukucham drives a solar powered boat on the Capahuari River in Kapawi, Ecuador. Photo / Federico Rios Escobar, the New York Times)
In 2017, after years of planning, the first solar boat was launched, embarking on an 1800km journey from Coca, Ecuador, to Iquitos, Peru, before returning back to the Achuar territory.
The Achuar community now has nine other solar boats operating in Ecuador, Peru, Brazil and even the Solomon Islands, with a goal of launching 250 more in the next five years.
Still, there have been challenges. The engines, which are designed in Germany and the US, have had problems navigating the Amazon’s rivers, which can produce unexpected currents, recede during the dry season and are often filled with toppled trees and other obstacles.
“The littlest thing goes wrong, and the whole boat stops working,” Utne said.
While some Achuar embraced solar canoes, others remained sceptical. The diesel boats, despite their noise and pollution, are still faster — a significant advantage in daily life. “People here need real solutions,” said Granda, the provincial prefect.
But Achuar who support solar-powered vessels are trying to persuade more sceptical members to embrace a cleaner mode of transit, and Kara Solar is redesigning the diesel boats so they can also be powered by the sun.
Utne started a company, Motores Amazonas, or Amazonian Motors, working with the Achuar to develop motors that will be more reliable than the imported engines currently used.
Granda said he could have advocated to have more roads built. But in other Indigenous communities, he and others said, roads have brought drugs and alcohol that have devastated local tribes.
“We don’t want roads here,” said Nantu Canelos, the president of Kara Solar. “Highways destroy communities.”
The ultimate goal is ambitious: turning the Kapawi River, one of the Achuar region’s most important transit links, into a solar-powered waterway.
The Achuar say creating a sustainable transportation network is a way to take control of their own future, blending ancient traditions with modern solutions.
The solar boats, Granda said, is a vital step “to keep the territory preserved”.
