I knew that my fall journey to Uganda and Rwanda would include a grand finale of hiking into the Virungas Mountains and encountering the rare (only 700 left) Mountain Gorilla. I knew it was going to be incredible to see such endangered and magnificent creatures close up. I knew the hike through mud and thistles would be challenging. I knew what to wear. I thought I knew it all, but was quite unprepared for what I witnessed.

Entering the Virungas Park headquarters after a hectic boarder crossing and rain threatening to dampen our experience, our group of 20 felt incredible relief to arrive in the care of our guides, who greeted us with smiles and hot coffee.

As the men spoke of Group 22, the gorillas we were to visit, it was clear this was more than a job to them and that these gorillas were not simply their livelihood. One of the guides had known a particular gorilla for over 10 years. They worried about their well being, about the poaching and human born disease (www.mgvp.org) that threatened them, and about how they were doing within their group. They were their family.

After a rather magical three hour journey through bamboo and mud, we met up with the trackers and left everything besides ourselves and our cameras in a pile.

"Let us meet our cousins," the guides said.

We climbed over a ridge… and there they were.

Now for the part I was unprepared for: the gorillas were willing to let us into their bamboo forest homes, willing to let us to gaze at their long-eyelashed females and infants with tiny human-like feet, willing to hear us giggle at the antics of their juveniles and quietly gasp at the sheer size and gentle power of their silverback. It was astounding what they allowed, and it seemed their allowance was part of a contract agreed upon long ago, to be part of a mutually beneficial partnership.

Upon first seeing the silverback, the guides gave a greeting: a long grunting huff-growl which seemed to say, "Hello. It is us. You know us and trust us. We are here for our one-hour allotted visit with 8 friends. They mean you no harm. You are the boss." The silverback made a small grunt at them that seemed to say, "Fine. Just be cool." Each time any gorilla in the group got too close to us, the grunting huff-growl was given to the silverback. They were communicating.

As we began our blissed-out descent, one more grunt from the silverback seemed to say, "Thank you for protecting us and our habitat. Now your time is up. We will see you tomorrow, if that is what it takes. Good Day, Sirs."

A symbiotic relationship? Let's just say yes.

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