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As an environment writer, I have always been doubtful of the value of "ecotourism." It seemed harmless at best, a scam at worst — a way to assuage the guilty conscience of travelers spending thousands of dollars to jet off to exotic locales. It was never clear to me, for instance, whether ecotravel was really any different from normal travel, except maybe for the involvement of more elephants and fewer cocktails on the beach. (And not even that, necessarily.)

It would seem also that travel by itself negates any possibility of eco-benefit, since flying burns so much carbon; a round-trip from New York to Nairobi, one popular ecotourism destination, creates nearly nine tons of carbon dioxide per person. Not to mention that the national parks, nature sanctuaries and remote wildlife reserves that draw most ecotravelers can be damaged by the foot traffic, to say nothing of the development that comes with tourism.

But, in any case, it appears I was alone in my skepticism — ecotourism is growing three times faster than travel on the whole.

Finally, last September, I went on an eco-trip of my own (on assignment for this magazine) to Madagascar, the utterly unique and fascinating island off the southeast coast of Africa. Madagascar has wildlife that is found nowhere else on Earth and a prodigious variety of climates and vegetation that makes it virtually a planet unto itself. Ecology is what defines Madagascar — and what I discovered there, among other things, is that ecotourism when properly managed is not only not a scam, but a boon to conservation.

The village of Andasibe, about three hours' drive from the capital of Antananarivo, borders the Andasibe-Mantadia National Park, a pristine rainforest that remains one of the crown jewels of Madagascar's denuded landscape. The park is full of the rare animals that Madagascar is famous for — the panda-like indiri lemur, Parson's chameleons that blend into the trees, the greater bamboo lemurs, perhaps the rarest primate on the planet. One of the local guides, Marie Razafindrasolo, led me on a tour of the forest, spotting animals that I would never have noticed myself.

Razafindrasolo is one guide in the many networks of local guides that are springing up in Andasibe and increasingly throughout Madagascar. The government is dedicated to tripling the size of its national park system, which directly supports the economic livelihood of the people who live near them — in Madagascar, the government shares half the revenue from parks with local communities. That revenue, of course, depends on ecotourism, which in turn depends on the conservation of wildlife — if there are no more lemurs left to see, then no one will come to see them.

Environmentalists who decry the impact of travel should know that if Andasibe can't attract tourists, the people who live there will have to find another way to make a living — probably by exploiting nature, rather than protecting it. (A major nickel mine being developed near Andasibe is an ominous possibility.) "With ecotourism, the protected areas and parks are less likely to be used for strip mining," says Neel Inmadar, senior adviser on ecotourism for the green group Conservation International (CI). "You'll never stop development, but you can maintain the environment while providing economic benefit."

Then there's the less tangible benefit that comes to the traveler himself. I write about endangered species all the time, but it wasn't until I went to Madagascar and saw an indri lemur for myself that I could really understand the value of what I wanted to defend. It wasn't until I saw how little of the Madagascar forest has survived — 90% of the country's original forest cover is gone — that I could truly fathom the risk. If environmentalism requires a revolution of consciousness, maybe that can't be done at home — even if traveling requires carbon emissions. As Russell Mittermeier, the president of CI and my ecotravel partner in Madagascar, says: "You've got to see it to save it."

For the committed ecotraveler, then, the trick is to find a legitimate ecotour — it's not easy to distinguish a genuinely sustainable tour outfit from one that's green only in name. Courtesy of CI, here are the five questions you should always ask your tour operator to gauge its greenness:

1. Do you have a written policy on the environment? If the company has a written statement that includes things like sustainability aims and goals, it's a good clue toward their intent. If there's nothing on paper, it likely means they don't take ecotourism very seriously.

2. How do you measure your contribution to conservation or to local communities? In Madagascar, for example, the government splits park revenue 50-50 with locals — that's the kind of thing you should be looking for.

3. How many local people do you employ? More importantly, does the company employ local people in management positions?

4. How do you treat waste water? That's especially important for tours or hotels along the sea. Ideally, untreated waste water should not be pumped directly into open water or rivers.

5. Do you employ local guides? Not only does that help provide employment to nearby communities, but local guides are much more likely than non-natives to understand and respect the environment and culture around you.

• Bryan Walsh
• I have always been doubtful of the value of 'ecotourism.' As a concept, it seemed harmless at best, a scam at worst.