Phu Kradueng Cable Car Controversy: Balancing Tourism with Conservation

In the verdant heart of Loei province, a tempest brews over the tranquil enchantment that is Phu Kradueng National Park. The Seub Nakhasathien Foundation, a stalwart guardian of Thailand’s natural wonders, has drawn a clear line in the sand against the proposed cable car system, a project that promises convenience at a steep ecological price. Here, among ancient trees and whispering winds, the question isn’t just about modernity’s march but the very soul of preservation.

Recently, the Department of National Parks, Wildlife and Plant Conservation (DNP) hit the pause button, extending the project’s feasibility studies and the all-important environmental impact assessments (EIA) by two years. This move underscores the gravity of the concerns raised. On paper, it’s about budget lines and feasibility, with a substantial 25.7 million baht (or US$775,980) earmarked through the Designated Areas for Sustainable Tourism Administration (Dasta) for development efforts. The DNP director-general, Atthapol Charoenchansa, outlined a 3-kilometre adventure from Pha Mak Dook that could ring the cash register at 1 billion baht (US$30 million) in its first phase. Ambitiously, they envision further enhancements teeming with electric buggies that could shuttle wide-eyed tourists through untouched splendor.

However, the foundation sees beyond the brochures and polished pitches. They warn that every buggy on delicate forest trails and each cable pulling gondolas skyward could chip away at the park’s ecological fabric. After all, Phu Kradueng isn’t just a spot on the map; it’s a sanctuary bursting with unbroken forests that shelter rare flora and endangered species like the elusive serows, fascinating Javan pangolins, yellow tortoises, playful dusky leaf monkeys, and ethereal white-handed gibbons. Recognized as an ASEAN Heritage Park in 2023, only the highest stewardship can safeguard its integrity.

Beyond the ecology, economic ripples question the very essence of local benefit. Can reconfiguring nature drive meaningful economic upturns, or will short-term influx sabotage long-term sustainability? As the foundation astutely observes, ease of access could swell tourist numbers faster than the DNP can responsibly manage. Can they ensure numbers don’t trample fragility into oblivion, or might they open Pandora’s box on overuse and its subsequent consequences?

Leading the charge with optimism and caution alike, local stakeholders muse whether the allure of greater tourism traffic will genuinely invigorate the economy or become another quixotic pursuit couched in vogues of modernization. While anything that endangers this pristine wilderness runs counter to national interests, the narrative unfolds along deeply personal and national lines. It’s not merely conservationists on one side and developers on the other; it’s a mosaic of voices grappling with legacy versus change.

Some see futures lit by tourism’s proverbial candle light, but the Seub Nakhasathien Foundation wagers on a different kind of illumination — one that guards what some might call the last wild places with a resoluteness equaled only by the natural world itself. They understand that missteps, however well-intentioned, might echo through forests and fade into echoes of regret. Development doesn’t just pave pathways; it can unlock doors to declassification — slowly, insidiously.

Each detail of this unfolding saga begs patience, urging a more harmonious dialogue between tradition and transformation. As things stand on this beautiful May 5 of 2025, it’s clear: Phu Kradueng holds court as a virtuoso, its tranquil rhythms at risk of turning cacophonous. May decisions made in sterile conference rooms honor the wild symphony playing here, where every tree sings its own song of unyielding perseverance.