OK, nos vamos,” says Rotaractor Madeline Thiebaud, casting her eyes upward. I follow her up five flights of stairs to the top of a wooden lookout point. As we finish our climb, we take in miles of nearly deserted beach, hugged by an abundant jungle of mangroves, almond trees, and palms stretching toward low-hanging clouds. Where the jungle tapers off, a blue shadow of mountains rises in the distance. I’m awe-struck.

“This is Punta Sal,” Thiebaud says. Punta Sal, also known as Jeannette Kawas National Park, is one of the largest protected areas in Honduras. Running along the northern coast of this Central American country, its 300 square miles are home to hundreds of plant species, multiple ecosystems, and rare varieties of fish, reptiles, and birds, along with the occasional dolphin and howler monkey.

Today, Thiebaud, a member of the Rotaract Club of El Progreso and executive director of Prolansate, the private conservation group that manages the park, is treating me to an ecotour. As we walk along the shore, a group of thatched huts rises on the horizon. A Garífuna woman comes out to greet us. Her floral dress is almost hidden under a tightly tied apron. A few strands of gray hair peek out from under her plaid fishing hat. “This is Nani. She’s making our lunch today,” Thiebaud says.

“I love Garífuna food – fresh fish, rice and beans in coconut milk, and fried plantains,” she continues, explaining that the Garífuna, an indigenous community of mixed African and native South American descent, live along the beaches of Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua. Most make a living by fishing.

Nani has three picnic tables and runs a small restaurant on the beach. We greet her in Spanish, and she holds up two silver fish for us to choose from – robalo and caguacha – glistening in the midmorning sun. Just a few hours ago, they must have been roaming the lagoon among the mangroves.

While Nani cooks, Thiebaud escorts me down the rest of the beach. “Part of what we do is protect and educate the Garífuna,” says Thiebaud, telling me about a school for the community’s children built by Prolansate, which is working to preserve the Garífuna culture and help the people earn a sustainable living. Thiebaud started working for Prolansate (the Foundation for the Protection of Lancetilla, Punta Sal, and Texiguat) after finishing up her studies in social anthropology and nongovernmental organization management in 2004. A little more than a year later, she was promoted to executive director.

Over the past 12 months, Thiebaud has gotten to know many people. She’s helped some, like Nani, start small businesses, and encouraged others to work for Prolansate as park rangers.

The 90-degree heat and humidity take their toll, so we rest at an inlet where the beach turns away from the Caribbean and toward a lagoon. “In the spring, there are hundreds of crabs here,” Thiebaud says, dancing her fingers over the sand, describing the crabs’ commute from the lagoon to the sea during mating season. “I’ll show you the lagoon after lunch.”

When we arrive back at Nani’s stand, she’s set a table full of plates teeming with fish, rice and beans, and fried plantains, along with a bottle of Coca-Cola. The first bite of fish is surprisingly salty, but the hint of coconut adds a subtle sweetness.

Nani is 63 and has lived on this beach all her life. Her small business got started once Prolansate began managing the park in 1997. The organization helped her build three huts – one serves as her restaurant, and the other two, with solar power and running water, act as tiny hotel rooms where visitors can stay right on the beach. She’s a strong matriarch type, with at least three grandchildren circling her at all times.

Keeping it green

Thiebaud is a tireless environmental advocate for the park. Just a few weeks earlier, the 25-year-old was flying high above the jungle with the Honduran minister of tourism, Ricardo Martinez. From a helicopter, she pointed out the potentially damaging effects of a proposed hotel development on the ecology and the lives of Garífuna people in huts along the coast.

After lunch, Thiebaud takes me on a boat ride through the Laguna de los Micos. Occasionally, a fisher goes by in a canoe, or a pelican dives into the water, but otherwise, all is still. I imagine what it must have been like to discover this place – the dense jungle full of colorful birds, and waters packed with fish and alligators. Then, Thiebaud jolts me back into the 21st century: “They thought about filming Survivor here, but it fell through,” she says.

Once we’re back from the cruise, Thiebaud drives me the 20 minutes to Tela, where I’m spending the night. Tours of the lagoon and park are available from the sleepy yet growing beach town, which has a small Rotary club. Inside the park, the roads are made of dirt, so trekking by foot would be arduous.

Tourist spots

The northern coast of Honduras is the country’s main tourist destination, with most flying into San Pedro Sula, then taking a bus or driving the hour to Tela. Scuba enthusiasts hop on a small plane to Roatán and other Bay Islands and their unspoiled coral reefs.

As we continue down the bumpy dirt road toward town, Thiebaud recounts her latest Rotaract activities, including a fundraiser concert she’s organizing to renovate a center for street children where she volunteers on Sundays. “I’m a Rotaract addict. The day I turned 18, I joined,” she says. Thiebaud’s family shares her passion: Both her mom and dad are Rotarians, and her younger sister is in Interact.

While she’s talking, she gets a call on her cell phone. The ringtone is a James Blunt song popular with teenagers, but she’s all business when she answers. Thiebaud turns down the radio and speaks with a representative from the European Union about a reef protection project she’s working on.

After hanging up, Thiebaud jokes about getting a Rotary emblem tattoo. For a second, she seems to think better of it, then adds, “Well, maybe when I become a Rotarian.”