Solo Trekking Rwanda's Volcanoes: Finding Gorillas and Finding Yourself

When I decided to trek solo in Rwanda at 53, I approached it with the same methodical planning I bring to our company's renewable energy projects. This wasn't just about packing the right gear—it was about preparing mind, body, and spirit for an encounter that would demand everything from me.

Physical preparation began six months before departure. Living in Oklahoma's relatively flat terrain meant I needed targeted conditioning for Rwanda's 8,000+ foot elevations. I incorporated twice-weekly stair climbs at our office tower and weekend hikes with a weighted pack. My trekking poles became constant companions during training and proved invaluable on the actual gorilla treks.

Mental preparation was equally important. I devoured books about gorilla conservation, Rwandan history (including the devastating genocide), and Dian Fossey's pioneering work. Understanding the cultural context and conservation challenges deepened my eventual experience immeasurably.

The most meaningful preparation, however, came through reconnecting with my father's Japanese heritage. I practiced meditation techniques from my childhood and incorporated the mindfulness principles that had helped me overcome corporate burnout years ago. In Japanese culture, there's profound respect for nature's wisdom—something I would soon experience firsthand in the presence of gorillas.

After a career advocating for renewable energy, I'm perpetually conscious of my environmental footprint, especially in ecologically sensitive areas. Selecting accommodations near Volcanoes National Park became an exercise in finding the intersection of sustainability, luxury, and purpose.

I chose Bisate Lodge, an architectural marvel nestled within an eroded volcanic cone. The spherical, thatched structures echo Rwanda's traditional design while incorporating sophisticated sustainability features. My villa—one of just six—offered panoramic views of Bisate's reforestation project and the mist-shrouded volcanoes beyond. The property has planted over 100,000 indigenous trees, creating a buffer zone that extends gorilla habitat while absorbing carbon.

What impressed me most wasn't the expected luxury touches (though the private deck, fireplace, and farm-to-table cuisine were exceptional), but rather the lodge's integration with local communities. Staff came predominantly from surrounding villages, and the property's conservation initiatives included tangible benefits for local residents.

Each evening after trekking, I'd retreat to my villa's deck with my binoculars to watch golden monkeys swing through newly planted trees. This daily ritual became a moving meditation on regeneration—both of the land and of my own spirit. The lodge provided reusable water bottles and eliminated single-use plastics, aligning perfectly with the values I've championed throughout my corporate sustainability initiatives.

The morning of my first gorilla trek dawned misty and cool—nature's perfect setting for what would become a profound life experience. At park headquarters, I was assigned to the Hirwa family group with seven other trekkers and our guide, Jean-Paul, whose 15 years of experience would prove invaluable.

The trek began gently enough through terraced farmland before ascending into dense bamboo forest. As someone who's climbed corporate ladders for decades, I'm no stranger to challenging ascents, but this one demanded a different kind of strength. The altitude (around 8,500 feet) made each step deliberate, each breath intentional. The hiking boots I'd carefully broken in proved their worth on the slick, muddy terrain.

After nearly three hours of trekking, Jean-Paul's radio crackled—the trackers had located the gorilla family. We left our packs with the porters (hiring local porters is both helpful to you and economically beneficial to communities) and continued with just cameras. The forest grew silent as we approached, and then... there they were.

The Hirwa family sprawled before us in a small clearing—a massive silverback methodically stripping bamboo shoots, juveniles wrestling playfully, a mother nursing her infant with such tender attentiveness that I felt like an intruder witnessing something sacred.

What struck me most wasn't their size or strength, but their presence. These beings existed completely in the moment—no strategic planning, no quarterly targets, no digital distractions. The silverback's leadership style was subtle yet commanding, maintaining group harmony with minimal intervention. In 30 years of corporate leadership, I've rarely witnessed such effortless authority.

When a juvenile gorilla approached within feet of me, curious about my camera, our guide whispered to remain still and avoid eye contact. I lowered my gaze respectfully—a gesture that in gorilla society communicates peaceful intentions. In that moment of mutual acknowledgment across species, I experienced what the Japanese call yūgen—a profound awareness of the universe too deep for words.

While mountain gorillas were undoubtedly the centerpiece of my journey, Rwanda's broader conservation story proved equally compelling. This nation—smaller than Maryland and devastated by genocide just 29 years ago—has transformed itself into Africa's leading conservation success story through visionary leadership and community involvement.

I dedicated several days to exploring other facets of Rwanda's environmental initiatives. At Akagera National Park in the country's eastern region, I witnessed the successful reintroduction of rhinos and lions after their local extinction. The park's solar-powered electric fence represents an elegant solution that protects both wildlife and surrounding agricultural communities—a balance of interests that resonated with my work in the energy sector.

Most impressive was Rwanda's community-based conservation model. Revenue sharing ensures that 10% of all national park fees go directly to surrounding communities, creating tangible incentives for protection rather than poaching. I visited several community enterprises near Volcanoes National Park—from honey cooperatives to traditional crafts—that provide sustainable livelihoods connected to conservation.

One afternoon, I joined a guided tour of the Iby'Iwacu Cultural Village, where former poachers now work as cultural ambassadors and conservation advocates. Their transformation parallels Rwanda's larger journey from tragedy to renewal—a powerful reminder that regeneration is possible at both individual and national scales.

During these explorations, my travel backpack proved invaluable, comfortably carrying water, rain gear, and photography equipment through varied terrain and unpredictable mountain weather. Its sustainable production practices aligned with the conservation ethos I was experiencing throughout Rwanda.

Traveling alone as a 53-year-old woman in Rwanda proved to be a revelation—not because of challenges, but because of the unexpected ease and profound connections it facilitated. Rwanda's remarkable safety (it ranks among Africa's safest countries) allowed me to focus on inner exploration rather than security concerns.

My Japanese-American heritage often makes me a cultural bridge-builder, and this proved true in Rwanda as well. During solo meals at my lodge, I found myself invited to join conservation researchers, local guides, and fellow travelers—conversations flowing easily across backgrounds and generations. There's something about traveling alone that opens these doors of connection more readily than when we travel in established groups.

The solitude between these social moments became equally valuable. Each morning, I practiced meditation on my private deck, incorporating elements of both my father's Japanese mindfulness traditions and the present-moment awareness I'd observed in the gorillas. This daily practice helped me process the intense emotions that gorilla encounters inevitably stirred.

One particularly meaningful solo experience came during a hike to Dian Fossey's grave at the Karisoke Research Center. The challenging trail through dense forest provided time for reflection on Fossey's complex legacy and the parallels to my own professional journey. As a woman who's navigated male-dominated energy boardrooms for decades, I found unexpected kinship with Fossey's determination to protect what she valued, regardless of obstacles.

For women considering solo travel to Rwanda, I can offer reassurance that the country's excellent infrastructure, professional tourism industry, and cultural respect for women create an environment where you can focus on experience rather than logistics or safety. The personal growth that comes from navigating such powerful encounters independently is worth every moment of initial uncertainty.