LANDED Podcast 033 Simon Heyes Simon Heyes is an ace of Latin American travel—the final boss, the old gaffer. Simon fell head over heels for Latin America back in the early 90’s. He’s been a guide throughout the Andes—from Colombia to Chile. Then, after working for leading specialist UK tour operators, he started Senderos in 2004. The question Simon asks is: How can you love Latin America and not want to preserve it, conserve it, and help it regenerate? Simon argues that tourism is uniquely capable of doing just that. It is a powerful tool for Conservation, Community, Culture and sustainable Commerce. Senderos is a positive-impact focused, UK-based marketing, sales and PR firm. Its clients are conservation-focused wildlife lodges, private estancias, boutique hotels and expedition vessels in Latin America. Simon has been involved with The Latin American Travel Association since 1996. His firm has been a proud affiliate of The Long Run since 2017, and founding members of The Conscious Travel Foundation. Senderos gained B Corp certification in early 2024—bravo Simon! Well done—joining Travel by B Corp soon after. I’m chuffed to bring you this conversation with The Ledge himself, Simon Heyes of Senderos. Rather read than listen? Find the transcript below Simon Heyes, it’s great to hear your voice again. Simon: John Montgomery of Salt Lake City, it’s fantastic to be here with you and hear your voice. Park City. Now we’ve moved, changed things. Simon: You have. You’re out in the rural Idaho now, aren’t you? I have. My only neighbor is a bald eagle. Simon: Wow. Amazing. I aspire to this. I’m still in Bristol, but I’ve just been in the wilds of Patagonia and every time I come back, I think I love Bristol, but I think, ah, I need a little bit more countryside, bit more nature. Yeah. You and I were just in the same place. Cerro Guido. Well, isn’t that a lovely thing? Someone mentioned, not knowing that we knew each other, but probably suspecting that we did, that you had been down there as well. What, in October? Simon: That would be Gonzalo. And yes. Yeah. I mean, what a place that is. Simon: It’s shockingly beautiful. Yeah, it did blow me away. And I knew it was going to be good. I haven’t been down to Torres del Paine for a few years. I did actually visit Cerro Guido 10, 11, 12 years ago when it was in a different, sort of, in a different form. But… Simon: Yeah, so the landscapes were familiar, but, you know, the hotel was all new. Did see a huge amount of incredible landscapes and incredible wildlife, but an armadillo wasn’t on the list. So what else did you see when you were there that we can compare notes? Simon: You know, the most unscripted moment, let’s call it, was when we were riding. We were really riding. And you know, there you can run. You can canter as fast as your horse can carry you and your wits will allow. We’re mounting this valley, and in the distance is that peak of Paine Grande that they sometimes call Bart Simpson because it has spiky hair and a straight-faced profile. Well, in the distance we see a black stallion, and he’s circling something, and he’s very agitated. He’s rearing up on his hindquarters and giving us the full cinematic, you know, front-leg cycle motion. Incredible. Simon: And we get closer and we realize he’s protecting another horse, a horse that—and these are wild horses, they’re not part of the ranch—this horse has had some sort of an injury or an illness, and it’s lying down, and it’s on its last breaths, and it’s giving us this wild-eyed stare. But this beautiful black stallion just keeps circling and doesn’t want us to approach. And of course the gauchos want to get closer to find out, take some photos, go back and talk to the vet, see if there’s anything that can be done. And the stallion gives us some space to do that. And he—I think he senses that we’re not so much of a threat, but he’s pacing along sort of the mesa top nearby. And we do our little check and leave them in peace all the time, wishing we could do something for this horse. And as we’re going away, he does another one of those hind leg rear-ups, you know, straight off the silver screen, and gives us the whinny and then comes back down and starts protecting her again. There is an extraordinary drama to Patagonia, isn’t there? And a real drama to Cerro Guido. I think everyone who goes there—nobody will have that same moment again. That’s yours. That won’t ever be produced. But there is something where you enter some kind of flow of natural splendor. Cerro Guido is a portal into a dramatic wild nature that very few of us get to see. And I think everyone who stays there has these moments. No one’s going to have the moment you had, but everyone’s going to have something. I’d just come—it was a very unusual visit because I’d just come from doing a huge amount of walking in El Chaltén, Laguna de los Tres. Spent a lot of time with Alberto del Castillo from Estancia Cristina, with Mariana and Carla and him. And then I arrived at Cerro Guido, and my back decided to go into spasm. So I was in this extraordinary place—107,000 hectares, over a quarter of a million acres of wild Patagonia to explore, and I could barely get to my room. But I did manage to get moving again. And actually there’s always something you can get from every moment, isn’t there? And the fact that I wasn’t out horse riding with Victor as much as I wanted to be meant that I sat down with Victor in the stables and interviewed him, and I sat down with Claudia, the amazing chef, in his kitchen. And I chatted to a lot of people. And then I did have my moment: the next morning I managed to get my back moving and went out on the conservation safari with Pía and Sebastian and Mariana, and we spent the whole morning around the Condorera, you know, the condor cliffs that you would have visited. It was very Patagonian: stormy, dark skies, kind of light rain. And we weren’t focusing on the keystone species; we were just focusing on the incredible views and the drama and the wind and just being outside in this amazing place. And as we headed up to the Condorera, we saw some falcons and two falcon chicks which had been in a nest the week before and were now trying to learn how to fly, with the parents keeping an eye on them. Amazing, kind of watching these falcons trying to fly in the gusts of Patagonia. And then we saw a fox, and it was just beautiful. But we were about to head back when Pía said, ‘Simon, you should come and see my living room, my living room,’ she told me. And I was like, because she knew my back was sore and she thought, ‘This old boy needs to go back and have a cup of tea,’ but ‘I’ll show him my living room first.’ And we moved over to the cliffs, the condor cliffs, and there was a condor up there, and we were looking at the condor, and then suddenly she said, ‘Puma.’ And she said it from her—she said it from her midriff, from her stomach—’ Puma.’ And she told me that she follows her gut instinct, and down there, probably only 20 or 25 meters, were these piercing eyes, and it was extraordinary. I’ve never seen a puma before. I’ve been very lucky with wildlife sightings all over Latin America, but… Panthers. Yeah. Yeah. Well, just missed the black panther. But it was… Really a panther, right? It’s a jaguar, too. But the puma—Panthera. Panthera is the Latin, right? So, you’re absolutely spot on. But yeah, we were—moving away from Patagonia, we were at Trijun in the Cerrado in Brazil in April, and we were there at the same time as a National Geographic journalist whom we’d organized to visit with my wife and my kids. And the journalist, she went out, and she saw a maned wolf and a black jaguar that afternoon. And we didn’t. So, you just never know with wildlife sightings, do you? They’re always different and never to be repeated. I want to make sure all the Americans listening know that he said maned wolf. A wolf with a mane, not a maimed wolf. Yes, quite right. Sorry. Yes, quite right, John. Thank you for pointing that out. Yeah, maned wolf, which is an extraordinary creature out on a limb in evolutionary terms. It’s neither a wolf nor a fox; it looks a little bit like both. And Stanley Stewart called the maned wolf the ballerina of the Cerrado, of the savannah, which is Brazil’s greatest, great savannah and most biodiverse savannah on the planet. And the maned wolf is the closest—it’s a wild dog, but it’s an extraordinary creature and a keystone species and emblematic of biome health. And as we know, all interconnected with all of the other creatures in the biome. So yeah, very important. Same vibe as a wild dog in Africa but longer legs. Yeah, exactly. Very, and sort of delicate-looking. I mean, there’s a sort of—you feel a connection with them, and they feel fragile as well, and you sort of feel protective about them. How did you get started in all this? I know you were a guide in Venezuela and you were a guide in Peru, but where did that come from? So, I think calling me a guide in Venezuela is probably overstating it. And I was—I did work as a guide for a short time in Venezuela in ’94. And let’s just say I probably didn’t cover myself in glory as a guide. I was a bilingual trekking guide in the Andes and didn’t have a great grasp of Spanish and didn’t know the mountains that well. So, it was a fairly inauspicious start to working in tourism, but I learned fast, and I fell head over heels in love with Venezuela, and then Chile, and then Peru, and then Ecuador on that first sort of