Face to Face

With Gorillas in Rwanda

A Gorilla Trek Through Volcanoes National Park

There is a moment in Rwanda’s Virunga Mountains when the world feels densely alive. Sound presses in from every direction. Leaves shift overhead. Insects click and pulse. Your own breath becomes something you notice. The air carries the sharp green scent of crushed wild celery, and moisture gathers instantly on your skin as ancient ferns brush past your arms.

Ahead of us, a machete cuts a narrow passage through bamboo and vine, each strike deliberate and practiced. The forest does not open easily. But for a small number of people, it reveals a world spoken about often and experienced by a select few.

I stood at the edge of Volcanoes National Park as morning mist settled low across the volcanic slopes. Locals call it the Gisoke. It drapes the peaks in shifting layers, revealing and concealing them as the light changes. I could feel the closeness of something ancient, something that has endured far longer than we have.

I have traveled widely across Africa and know the familiar tension that builds before a wildlife encounter. Rwanda carries a different energy. It feels deliberate. Rooted. I had come to meet one of the habituated mountain gorilla families that move through these forests. 

Tracking the Igisha Family Through the Forest

Gorilla trekking demands participation. Nothing about this experience allows for passive observation. Our lead tracker, Francois, who has spent over four decades walking these slopes, stopped suddenly and raised his hand. His gaze moved through the forest with precision, reading signs most of us would never notice.

He knelt and brushed his fingers across a flattened circle of grass and leaves. A nest. Abandoned only hours earlier.

We moved in single file, following a narrow path carved for us. At intervals, the trackers exchanged brief words in Kinyarwanda, "Reba hariya," pointing out broken stems, bent bamboo, and small disruptions that revealed the gorillas’ route. Their knowledge comes from years spent watching these families grow, shift territories, separate, and return.

There is a grounding awareness of rarity here. Only ninety-six permits are issued each day. Twelve habituated families. Eight trekkers per group. These limits protect what matters. They allow the encounter to unfold without pressure or intrusion.

When the Gorillas Appear

“They are here,” Francois said, barely above a breath.

The transition is immediate. One moment, the forest presses in close. The next, it opens just enough to reveal a clearing that feels unexpectedly intimate.

The Igisha family rested among fallen Hagenia trees and thick vines. A juvenile lay draped across a moss-covered trunk, legs dangling loosely as he chewed methodically. Another moved nearby, darting in and out of sight, playing just beyond the edge of view.

The silverback sat farther back. His size and power were unmistakable, but he made no effort to display it. His authority did not require display. His presence alone shaped the space around him.

What struck me first was not their power, though it was undeniable. It was their focus and attention. Their complete engagement with one another and with the world immediately around them.

One Hour With the Gorillas

We are permitted one hour with the gorillas, a boundary designed to protect their health and preserve the balance of their world and the communities that surround it. This time does not include the tracking itself, nor the pauses if the family decides to move.

Once you are there, time loosens its grip.

The Igisha family continued about their lives. A mother stood, repositioned herself, then sat again with careful deliberation. A juvenile tested a vine, tugged twice, lost his balance, and scrambled back toward his mother. He glanced in our direction briefly before settling beside her.

The silverback moved only once. When he did, the effect was immediate. Space rearranged itself around him. Leaves settled. Attention followed. He turned slightly away and resumed his position, confidence expressed without force.

I became aware of sound in layers. Bamboo tearing cleanly as it was stripped. Low vocalizations that carried through the body as much as they traveled through the air.

A Moment of Recognition

At one point, I caught a brief glimpse of a female’s eyes as she adjusted the small infant pressed against her chest. The exchange lasted only a second, yet it stretched far beyond its length. Long enough to register awareness. Long enough to feel acknowledged.

That was enough.

I came to understand something I had felt before but never named. The distance we place between ourselves and the wild is largely of our own making. Here, care and attention moved through the forest in familiar ways. The gestures, the protection, and the patience were instantly recognizable.

Why Two Gorilla Treks Change Everything

If you are considering a gorilla trek in Rwanda, my strongest recommendation is this. Go twice.

The first day carries anticipation and intensity. Your senses are heightened. You are learning the terrain, the procedures, the feel of the forest. Everything competes for attention.

The second day arrives differently. Familiarity steadies you. You move with greater awareness. On my second trek I found myself more grounded, more observant, noticing details that slipped past me before.

The way the silverback’s nostrils are flaring as the wind shifts. The fine eyelashes of the infants. The way siblings leaned into one another while resting.

The encounter remains powerful, but your relationship to it changes. You are no longer bracing for the moment. You are fully immersed.

Leaving the Forest Slopes

When our hour came to an end, we stepped back slowly, careful not to rush the transition. The forest folded in behind us, reclaiming the clearing as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.

As a light drizzle began during our descent, bark deepened in color and leaves darkened with moisture. The volcanoes rose in silhouette against low cloud.

My thoughts turned inward. There was a sense of recalibration, as though something essential had been realigned. The encounter stripped away excess, leaving clarity in its wake. Not excitement. Not spectacle. Something steadier. More enduring.

Back at Kwitonda Lodge, care arrived seamlessly. Mud-caked boots were taken away. Warm towels appeared. Tea was poured without comment.

My suite opened toward the Virunga volcanoes. Stone and timber framed wide views across cultivated fields and rising peaks. Later, I sat beside the heated plunge pool as evening settled across the landscape. Steam rose into the cool mountain air. Light softened along the slopes. The day found its place.

Everything here feels intentional. Architecture, service, and setting work in alignment with the conservation efforts that make these encounters possible. 
 

Rwanda’s Commitment to Gorilla Conservation

Rwanda’s conservation story runs through every aspect of this experience. It lives in the pride of the guides, in the discipline of access limits, and in the constant presence of rangers who protect these families day and night.

Permit fees support veterinary care, education, and community initiatives that ensure those living near the park benefit directly from conservation. This shared investment has reshaped the future of the mountain gorillas.

They are protected because they are valued. Their presence sustains livelihoods. Their future belongs to everyone who plays a role in safeguarding it.

When you are ready to walk these slopes and sit among the giants of the Virungas, let’s start the conversation.