For most of human history, the concept of “value” was immediate. My goat has value because it can be traded for x amount of money now, or because it will feed my family for x amount of time now. And for most of human history, that was the way we assigned value to nature. An acre of forest has value equal to the amount I can get for the wood in it today, and the amount that I can make for then planting crops in that area in the immediate term. A turtle has value equal to what I can sell its meat and shell for. And so on.

It is only really in the last several decades that some – by no means a majority, let alone all – have realized that nature’s value can also be measured differently, through environmental commoditization. And one of the chief ways to commoditize the environment is via ecotourism.

The premise is simple. If I keep my acre of forest, I forego the aforementioned income based on wood and crops. But if I would make $1000 for those things, and can instead sell 100 visitors on seeing my pristine forest at $10 each, I come out even. And the world comes out ahead, both from a carbon capture standpoint and an emissions one. (The UN Environmental Programme says that if deforestation were a country, it would rank third in emissions behind China and the U.S.) The same goes for my turtle. If I can keep it alive and returning to my beachfront property – along with its friends – I can probably get people to pay me to show it to them. People like seeing turtles.

Now in practice, it’s a bit more complicated. To allow people to see my forest, I need access for them in the form of a road to get them there and paths to take them around. I need to hire someone to monitor the forest to make sure those visitors are treating it responsibly. That takes an initial outlay of capital I may or may not have. (We will talk about investments in a bit.) I not only have to forego the immediate income, but have to believe strongly enough in my future earnings to invest. For many in developing nations, it can be a hard sell.

Enter Costa Rica.

In 1955, shortly after a brief civil war and the subsequent abolition of the army, Costa Rica was basically an agricultural society, with vast plantation of fruit trees and cattle ranches. In that year, the first I could find statistics for, protected land in the country accounted for .05%. Yes, only a tiny fraction of a single percent. Through leadership dedicated to conservation, Costa Rica established a national parks system in 1970. This, in turn, led scientific researchers to do field studies in the country’s now-protected varied ecosystems, which are home to roughly 5% of the world’s species. And, with images and stories from those appearing all over the world, the tourists came.

Tourists bring money, and beginning in the 1990s, the country invested heavily in the infrastructure needed to better cater to them. Better roads were built. Lodges sprang up in and around protected lands. There was big money to be made here, and Costa Rica dedicated itself to capturing as much of that as possible. Ecotourism was born in its full.

Today, more than 25% of Costa Rica is protected land, in an interesting public-private partnership. (For comparison’s sake, the U.S. has right around 13% of land designated protected, though specific legislation allows for more activities in that land than in Costa Rica, such as hunting and fishing in many areas. Both are illegal in Costa Rica’s protected areas.) The country has 31 national parks (and 34 wildlife refuges, with additional public lands of varying designations), but an almost equal amount of privately protected land. And that is the crux of what we are going to talk about today, because it is one thing for a country to designate money and land for conservation, even if it operates at a loss. (Note: all the statistics from the U.S. national parks show that protected lands are actually huge money makers, but I don’t consider it a guarantee.) But it is quite another for private land owners to either not cut down their forest for agriculture or to get rid of the agriculture for reforestation. In these cases, there must be the reasonable expectation of profit.

One of the best examples is the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve (click here to read more about Monteverde), a private 26,000 acre protected area of both primary (old growth) and secondary (regrowth) forest at high elevations along Costa Rica’s mountain peaks. This area was originally purchased by Quaker families from the U.S. to use for cattle farming. And much of it was, until the 1970s, when it garnered attention for the incredibly endangered (now probably extinct) golden toad, in the small percentage of primary forest the original families set aside. In 1975, the first year open to tourists, Monteverde attracted 431. There was no lodging; there were no services.

So the locals built. Lodges were constructed. Further lands were dedicated to protection, and other private lands were convinced to do the same. By 1990, Monteverde was hosting 40,000 tourists per year, a number that is closer to 70,000 today. The money is used to enhance services, to create better paths and signage, to hire more rangers and researchers, and to provide for the futures of the small number of Costa Ricans who live in the area.

Of course, with increased tourism comes increased pressure on the land. Unfettered access would mean devastation for this pristine landscape. There is a balance point, and it is one that can be hard to find, especially in a country where, despite a reasonably high quality of life that includes free medical and a national pension, the average monthly salary is below $1000 per month. The allure of more tourists spending more money and providing more jobs is hard to resist, and has to be reckoned with the future should the forests suffer and people not want to visit at all.

(There is also the danger of foreign investment taking over, given the significant amount of capital required to open a luxury eco-lodge. As best as I can tell, most lodges I stayed at in Costa Rica are locally owned, but rapid expansion could negate this, thereby lessening the positive impact on the country.)

Monteverde is at one end of the spectrum. On the other is the tiny town of Juanilama, not even a dot on Google maps. Here in rural Costa Rica, Yami and a group of local woman have used ecotourism to supplement their income. Houses rent rooms, sustainable farming provides food, and a private reserve offers forest (regrowth in this case) for explorers.

Juanilama offers a true alternative for a small, largely poor, rural community to slash and burn for agriculture. It is a model that is slowly catching on, although advertising is difficult compared to the much larger eco-resorts all over, like the one I am staying at in Muelle, called Tilajari. (That one also has its own connected private reserve. See the trend?) But with overcrowding in places like La Fortuna (gateway to Arenal Volcano National Park) and Manuel Antonio, these smaller and more locally authentic experiences are seeing increased demand.

So what is the future? Trends are taking it two ways. First is substantially increased tourism to Costa Rica, which is one of the only countries to have surpassed its pre-pandemic numbers in 2023 at close to 3 million tourists. Of these, more than 70% report ecotourism being at least a portion of their reason for coming. (To be honest, I’m not sure what the remainder are looking to do.) The second trend, which corresponds to this increased demand, is further protections for lands, and reforestation of those newest areas. After all, places like Monteverde are sort of at capacity for what the area can realistically handle with environmental impact being kept to a reasonable standard, so there will be need for more – and more varied – places for tourists to have similar experiences.

Money for these can come both from tourists and from UN programs, like carbon banks, that allow carbon offsets to be purchased by individuals, companies, and even nations, with reforestation used as the offset. This funding is crucial for other countries with less basis to begin doing similar things to what Costa Rica is successfully doing.

Costa Rica provides an inspiring example of what can be done with successful environmental commoditization. A country can be responsible to its natural resources and still provide solid economic opportunities to its citizens. It just takes foresight, investment, and political will. Luckily, this country has been largely blessed with those qualities. I hope others follow suit.

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