In the heart of the coastal wetland of Monterrico, where the coast is slowly devoured by the sea, five communities—Monterrico, La Curvina, La Avellana, Agua Dulce, El Pumpo and Papaturro—experience daily the visible effects of climate change and coastal erosion —the process of rising waves and sea levels accelerated by human intervention—which represent irreversible losses and damage to their ways of life. 
The retreat of the sea has left a beach cut and dangerous for tourists and locals. Erosion has affected infrastructure and altered the landscape of Monterrico. Photo: Andrea Godínez.
“Sedimentation and water heating, [which were] aggravated by phenomena such as El Niño, are changing the ecosystem and reducing catches of shrimp, crab and other fish,” explains Juan Carlos, technical advisor to WWF's “Sustainable Pacific” project. “The Chiquimulilla Canal, which used to be a healthy ecosystem, is now filled with sediments as a result of deforestation in the upper basins and heavy rains, which are also more frequent and extreme due to climate change.”
This transformation is not only ecological, it also represents what the climate world calls loss and damage: impacts caused by climate change that occur despite — or in the absence of — mitigation and adaptation. Some are economic and measurable — such as a flooded house or a failed crop — but others are intangible: jobs that disappear, forms of life that blur, ties with land and water that can no longer be recovered.
Marco Tax, director of operations at the Private Institute for Climate Change Research (ICC), confirms this trend: “In Guatemala, rains are now more intense and concentrated in a short time, increasing soil erosion and sedimentation in rivers and canals. In Bocacosta, where the Chiquimulilla canal is located, it used to rain more evenly, but now in three days what used to fall in a month is falling. This directly affects mangroves and channel dynamics.”
According to the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) report entitled “State of the Climate in Latin America and the Caribbean”, one of the consequences of climate change in Guatemala is that it intensified the effects of the El Niño phenomenon. According to the study, during 2024, rains were between 20% and 30% higher than normal, with more concentrated and intense episodes. This, researchers say, has also led to precipitation deficits and higher temperatures in several regions of the country.
The data are consistent with the erosion models that the ICC has developed in 13 basins in southern Guatemala, which show how the combination of torrential rains and loss of vegetation cover multiplies the amount of sediment that ends up in canals and estuaries.
“But the problem isn't just water or fishing,” says Myrnamería Galindo, a biologist at the Foundation for Ecodevelopment and Conservation (Fundaeco). “The reproduction cycles have changed. Before, at Easter, they sold a lot of shrimp. Now almost nothing. And that hits families hard,” he adds. In addition, coastal erosion has advanced so far that it has erased restaurants and houses near the beach, leaving people increasingly exposed to the sea.
Sand and mud move in ways that hardly anyone expected, changing ecosystems and the natural shape of the coast. “I've seen changes month by month. Before it was all flat and muddy, now there are areas of pure sand,” Galindo explains. Therefore, restoring mangroves and caring for these ecosystems is urgent, not only to protect nature, but also to conserve fishing, salt and other traditions that have kept these communities alive for generations.
Since 2022, a project called “Resilient Wings and Roots”, led by María Schoenbeck, with support from the host institution CECON, has been working to restore 44 hectares of mangroves and recover water flow in the Chiquimulilla channel. The goal is to save an ecosystem and a way of life that are endangered on several sides.
Carrousel from photos:
Photos: Andrea Godínez.
The fight for the mangrove
“Sedimentation and logging have changed the course of rivers, closed lagoons and destroyed mangroves,” Schoenbeck says. The solution is to open mini channels so that fresh and salt water mixes, something vital for the survival of the mangrove and the fauna that lives there.
“It's not a matter of one or two years; sometimes it takes five to ten,” Galindo warns. But there are already signs of hope: shrimp, green herons and butterflies have returned, and there is an improvement in important sites for migratory birds that now find refuge where there was nothing before.
A key point in all of this has been the leadership of local women. María Fernanda Ramírez, sub-coordinator of the Resilient Wings and Roots project, explains that they mix their ancient knowledge with new techniques, leading the collection of seeds, planting and monitoring, and at the same time strengthening the family economy. For many women, this is their first time entering a mangrove. “There used to be a lot of machismo and they didn't have a chance to do this job. Many women from La Curvina never imagined what a mangrove looked like, and now they feel a very strong bond with that place,” Galindo recalls.
Today, these women not only restore nature, they also defend the territory, warn of illegal invasions and denounce the irregular felling of trees. But the challenges are still there. One of them is the monocultures of sugar cane, coffee, banana and African palm. Although pollution has not completely stopped the flow of water, plantations in the upper part of the basin have altered its nutrients. The most serious thing has been the diversion of rivers for irrigation, which interrupts the natural passage of water and leaves the mangrove without the necessary respite.
According to a 2011 study, signed by Lilian Yon, legal advisor to the Ministry of Environment and Natural Resources of Guatemala, the accelerated loss of beaches and mangroves has weakened natural barriers against erosion. This, together with uncontrolled construction and overexploitation, puts biodiversity and life in the Chiquimulilla canal at risk.
Mynor López, a 45-year-old fisherman, has seen the channel transform. It is increasingly difficult for him to make a living from artisanal fishing. Photo: Andrea Godínez.
“The canal no longer works”: the struggle of artisanal fishermen in the face of ecological collapse in Monterrico.
For more than a decade, Mynor Yonel López Pérez, 45, has been navigating the waters of the Chiquimulilla canal with his wooden boat, casting nets in search of shrimp, tilapia and sea bass. He learned the trade from his father, who in turn inherited it from previous generations. “He was only engaged in fishing. He taught us everything: to distinguish species, to understand tides, to know the life of water,” he recalls.
But today, the knowledge that once guaranteed food and sustenance has ceased to be enough. “It's not like before. There are seasons when the channel is left with nothing,” López Pérez says with resignation. Climate change has altered water cycles and the reproduction of species. Coastal erosion has changed the course of the canal, and with it, the lives of artisanal fishermen who depend on this fragile and now profoundly altered ecosystem.
“Before, fish from the sea came here, and it grew here. That helped us. But now he comes very small, if he comes at all. And there are fish that don't even show up anymore,” he explains. In their memory remains the fish they called “parrot”, a species that used to be abundant in certain seasons, and although today they no longer find it in these waters, their memory speaks of a more diverse ecosystem, of an abundance that, little by little, has been disappearing.
“The channel no longer works,” López Pérez says, summarizing what he and other fishermen have experienced in recent years. What was once a stable source of income for dozens of families is now barely enough to survive. Artisanal fishing in Monterrico is collapsing, a victim of the loss of biodiversity, the increase in water temperature and the entry of non-native species that destroy what little is left.
This increase in water temperature is not anecdotal. According to the Diagnosis of the State of the Coastal Marine Environment of the Pacific of Guatemala, which has not yet been published and was prepared by Mario Roberto Jolón Morales, the surface temperature of the sea in this region has increased by approximately 0.5°C since 1940, and the trend continues to rise. This warming affects the distribution and reproduction of marine species, causing migrations to colder areas and reducing catches for fishermen.
For López Pérez, the situation is not only environmental: it is a direct threat to their way of life, to their family history, to their culture. “We live off the channel. Without it, there is no work, there is no food. Where are we going to go?” , he wonders.
Mario Valladares, 65, is preparing his catarraya. Their routine is a reflection of the constant effort of fishermen who face an increasingly sterile channel. Credit: Andrea Godínez.
Fishing is now almost an act of resistance
Something similar happens to Mario Roberto Valladares, a 65-year-old fisherman who throws his catarraya into the water with hope tense between his fingers. He is a native of Taxisco and learned to fish out of necessity, watching others cast the net. Today, he has walked several kilometers to reach the Chiquimulilla canal, and although he repeats the movement patiently, the result is always the same: nothing.
“Before, you would spend a couple of hours and get something out. Now I can be there all day and maybe I don't even fish to take to sell,” he says quietly. Fishing for him is a supplementary income, a way to alleviate the family economy. But it's getting harder every day. Seven years ago, on a good day of fishing I could still raise between $45 and $130 dollars approximately, now a day of fishing can mean nothing.
Mario throws the stingray into the water. Uncertainty accompanies him in every attempt. Photo: Andrea Godínez.
In addition, “in the case of fishing in the sea, fish migrate to colder areas and fishermen must go farther into the sea —as many as they can—, using more gasoline, risking more and obtaining less,” explains Villagrán, from WWF.
Detail of female hands burying roots. To plant mangroves is to sow a future for the life of the canal. Photo: Andrea Godínez.
But it's not just economic losses. This transformation also affects the health and cultural identity of communities. The reduction in fish consumption has caused changes in the family diet, increasing dependence on less healthy or highly altered products such as chicken and other processed foods. This has direct consequences on family nutrition, and also on the loss of ancient practices linked to fishing and the responsible consumption of marine resources. Schoenbeck, from the Resilient Wings and Roots project, emphasizes that “fishing is not just a livelihood, it's an ancient heritage”.
The reduction of this activity generates anxiety, hopelessness and in some cases migration, mainly among younger people who no longer see this practice as a sustainable way of life for their families. Added to this is the presence of devil fish, an invasive species that competes with native species, alters the balance of the ecosystem and, having very pointed and sharp fins, when removed from fishing nets, breaks them, aggravating the situation for fishermen. Coastal erosion has also complicated access to landing areas, requiring channels to be cleaned manually, a task that not only requires a lot of economic resources, but also human resources.
Food safety and changes that hurt
Although the diet in the community is still based on fish, which is cheap and accessible, the fall in catches and the increase in fishing costs are beginning to affect the food security of many families. In Monterrico, although it is the men who go out fishing, women play a key role in preparing nets and helping to sell the fish, although often no one recognizes them. Working together, as a couple, has been fundamental to the family economy.
Trapped between waters: the Varela family and a channel that no longer supports life
The Varela family's house floats in the waters of the canal. Built on stilts, it is flooded in winter and isolated in summer. Photo: Andrea Godínez. 
Juan Antonio Varela's children navigate the canal, their only way to get to school, work or the health center. Climate change has made their daily lives more fragile and dangerous. Photo: Andrea Godínez.
Juan Antonio Varela Rodríguez's family lives in a house on stilts in the middle of the Chiquimulilla canal, where water is their way to school, work or seek medical attention. But the canal, which once connected their lives, today isolates them more and more: during the rainy season, floods flood their house and leave them trapped for days; in the dry season, the water level drops so much that their boats are stranded.
“It's as if the channel denied us passage,” they say resigned. The transformation of the climate is no accident: Marco Tax, from the ICC, explains that now “it rains in three days what used to fall in a month”, eroding the earth and carrying tons of sediment from the high areas into the channel, suffocating it. According to the WMO, rainfall in Guatemala has been between 20% and 30% higher than normal, concentrated in more extreme episodes that intensify losses and damage in communities such as the Varela family.
The riverbed changes constantly and the soils disappear, leaving the channel unable to fulfill its function as a natural waterway or regulator. For the Varela, daily life has become fragile in the face of erratic rains, prolonged droughts and extreme events such as El Niño, which in 2024 aggravated the crisis in the region.
Those who entered the mangrove: women restorers of life
“The channel is changing. It's not the same anymore. Sometimes it dries up, and other times it floods us. If it goes up a lot, we can't get out. If it goes down, the boats get stuck,” says Marleny Ibarra, a resident of the village of Agua Dulce, a small community settled like an island inside the Chiquimulilla channel. Only twenty families live there, surrounded by water. There are no roads. Boats are the only way to get out or enter, to study, go to the market or access a health center. And yet, the water that gives them life has also become their biggest threat.
Reclaiming the mangrove is not a symbolic action: it's an urgent need. It means rebuilding natural barriers against storms, ensuring the reproduction of fish and shrimp, and protecting communities from the most severe consequences of climate change. “Many families rely on fishing, the sale of salt and sustainable practices that are linked to this ecosystem,” Ramírez explains.
Detail of female hands burying roots. To plant mangroves is to sow a future for the life of the canal. Photo: Andrea Godínez.
In contrast — but also as a direct response to the same environmental collapse — women like Sandra Patricia De León Valladares, from the village of La Avellana, have decided to act. “Women are also from the countryside,” she says proudly. In early 2025, he joined the Resilient Wings and Roots project, part of the Coastal Solutions program. It was the first time that many of them did what until then was considered “men's work”.
Marleny pushes his boat between the canal. The image reflects her strength and leadership as a woman restorer of the mangrove forest. Photo: Andrea Godínez.
They went into the mangroves with boots, tools and determination. They traveled by boat as far as the canal allowed it and then walked about a kilometer through thick mud and tangled roots. They carried bamboo sticks to build chinampas—floating structures designed to facilitate the reforestation of the mangrove—in extreme conditions of heat, humidity and physical effort.
Sandra and Aura walk between the canal and the mangroves in one of the restored areas. Their collective work has begun to bear fruit. Photo: Andrea Godínez.
Whether resisting from communities trapped by water or entering the mangrove with bamboo sticks, these women support the possibility of a future for their communities with their bodies and their decisions. They restore more than an ecosystem: they restore life.
As communities such as Monterrico, La Curvina, La Avellana, Agua Dulce and El Pumpo continue to restore what the sea is destroying, the question becomes increasingly urgent: how will the State, civil society and other Guatemalans respond to face this crisis that jeopardizes not only biodiversity, but the survival of these coastal communities? Because if restoration is possible, so is abandonment. And that would be the real failure.
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